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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081925">Hermione’s pianist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/softblakegriffin/pseuds/softblakegriffin'>softblakegriffin</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/va_lentina/pseuds/va_lentina'>va_lentina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breathplay, Choking Kink, Dom Hermione Granger, Draco can't deal with emotions, Drunk Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, HEA, Happy Ending, Humor, Kissing in the Rain, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Pining, Pianist Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Porn with Feelings, Roma | Rome, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Draco Malfoy, Sub Draco Malfoy, Summer Love, Touching, Violinist Hermione Granger, Yearning, a love letter to Rome, musicians au, which involves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:55:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>102,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/softblakegriffin/pseuds/softblakegriffin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/va_lentina/pseuds/va_lentina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Draco Malfoy</b> was destined to play music since birth. A small prodigy in a family of long-standing musicians, he’s well on his way to become the best pianist of his generation. A month in Rome with his friends is the perfect way to leave the pressure and social obligations behind and relax, immersed in the eternal beauty and soul-stirring art.</p><p><b>Hermione Granger</b>’s road to music wasn’t straightforward. She didn’t attend the Conservatory, everything she knows is the result of sacrifices, and she’s still searching for the perfect opportunity to make music her job. It’s her dream and she thinks Rome, with its breathtaking views and magical atmosphere, is the place where she wants to try and fulfill it.</p><p>He’s in Rome to enjoy a short reprieve from London, before going back home.<br/>She escaped London and is in Rome to stay. </p><p>Will music and the treacherous city disrupt their plans?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lee Jordan/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>208</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. καψούρα</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It was the beginning of January and this <a href="https://twitter.com/NyxFedra/status/1346059241526878208?s=20">tweet by NyxFedra</a> popped in our timelines:</p><blockquote>
  <p>Virtuoso pianist Draco Malfoy meets indie rising star Hermione Granger in Rome. He finds her playing a street piano terribly and cannot walk away without saying something about the respect she should have for classical music. He didn’t expect her smile to take his breath away.</p>
</blockquote>We started talking about it and, in the blink of an eye, the story appeared in our minds. To be honest, the fact that we miss Rome terribly but can’t hop on a train and go visit played a big part in giving us the inspiration; but we can’t complain that much, really, given how things worked out.<br/>We’re really proud of this story and we sincerely hope you guys will love it as much as we do!<p>It’s 10 chapters, mostly already written, so we will update every Wednesday. The chapter titles will all be untranslatable Greek words, with a brief explanation of the meaning in the beginning notes. You may or may not find some Italian words/lines throughout the story but don’t worry, we will provide the translation in the ending notes.</p><p>A huge thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/islabbe/pseuds/islabbe">Isla</a> for being the most fantastic of betas!</p><p>Here’s a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HGyKt9sCCNTn7KAP5xibw?si=t67yYdpeRZauqsaANw9ZZg">fic playlist</a> for you to get in the mood.</p><p>And without further ado... <i>Hermione’s pianist</i> is now yours: have fun and please let us know what you think about it! &lt;3</p><p>S&amp;V</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Kapsoùra</b></i> is the first, initial phase of complete infatuation with a new love: you hate to be away from the other person, and your thoughts are consumed by them. It’s the intense passion and desire that denotes the kind of love that burns so ardently that it threatens to consume itself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>The streets are crowded and people are shouting everywhere. Someone is posing in front of an ancient building, a small audience is listening to a tourist guide explain the history behind a statue, the sun glitters on the greenish waters of the Tevere, and someone honks violently from a car when a scooter crosses the road at a red light.</p><p>“Stop laughing,” sibilates a tall, blond man, a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes from the sunlight, while shooting a killer look to his dark-skinned companion.</p><p>“You’re gonna get <em> so </em> red,” the other man snorts as they quickly pace across a bridge looking around them in search of a place to get some quiet.</p><p>“Stop laughing, you prat,” the blond repeats, his hiss almost poisonous.</p><p>His friend can’t really be bothered, though. “I can’t believe you forgot sunscreen. You’re already turning purple,” he grins on.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Zabini, stop laughing!” screams Draco slamming his open palm against Blaise’s arm.</p><p>Rome’s hot daylight is burning up his fair skin and, no matter how much Blaise is enjoying the sight of Draco close to fainting, both boys are far too used to London’s pale mornings to survive nonchalantly Italy’s torrid summer. They’re in desperate need of some water and shade.</p><p>When they finally find shelter on a bench in an alley in Trastevere, they draw a sharp breath as they fall ungraciously on their seat.</p><p>“I’m facing a very hard decision, Malfoy,” says Blaise, head thrown back and twisting it slightly towards Draco.</p><p>“Huh?” he mutters in response, his index finger and thumb pressed on his closed eyes.</p><p>“There’s a drinking fountain over there,” Blaise goes on, raising his arm to point at the corner of the alley, where the small street meets the larger square. “But I don’t think I have enough strength to…” </p><p>He bursts into laughter when he sees his friend run to the fountain as though his own life depended on it.</p><p>Draco lets the water fall into his mouth, careless that it’s wetting his shirt as well: the more, the better, he thinks, given how much the weather is setting him on fire.</p><p>He rests against the column of the fountain for a while once he’s fully re-hydrated and closes his eyes. In the shade, the day becomes actually quite enjoyable for him: he can hear the footsteps of the tourists on the sampietrini, someone is shouting something in Italian and he can smell… well, he’s not sure <em> what </em> he can smell but he knows it’s something good.</p><p>His moment of quietness is interrupted by an applause that shakes his eyes open.</p><p>Draco notices a tiny crowd on the opposite end of the square. Some street artists must be doing some kind of show. The boys have already seen so many of them around these ancient streets, and they’re not much different from those who populate every corner of London but somehow they still manage to catch his attention every time.</p><p>He swiftly turns around to check on Blaise. He’s still on the bench, eyes closed and chest rising and falling quietly.</p><p>“Zabini? Still with us?”</p><p>“Hm,” Blaise scoffs, raising his hand just a bit to make sure he still has control over his limbs.</p><p>“Don’t die. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Draco leans down to drink some more water and then walks decidedly towards the crowd.</p><p><em> Oh, it’s just another musician</em>, he thinks as he approaches the audience and starts catching a pianoforte melody. He can’t help but squint his eyes and grimace, though, when he hears just how badly whoever’s playing is butchering the song. He gets closer and closer and makes his way to the first row, finally able to let his gaze fall on the pianist.</p><p>Her face is covered by a cloud of messy brown curls. Her fingers are moving swiftly on the keyboard and her legs are left uncovered by her short skirt, one of them rising slightly up and down as she drums the heel of her foot to the tempo of the melody. She hits yet another wrong note and stops playing, letting her hands fall helplessly on the keys. She sighs and turns towards the audience with a bright smile.</p><p>Her eyes are chestnut brown and her full lips are a nice shade of dark pink. <em> Prominent teeth</em>, Draco notices: the kind he would have made fun of, back when he was a git in high school. She definitely had to put braces on, at some point.</p><p>“Sorry! Not my lucky day apparently,” the young woman says with a laugh and a shrug. <em> London accent</em>. Her audience cheers anyway, evidently oblivious to just how <em> much </em> she has destroyed <em> Comptine d’une autre été</em>, which happens to be the main theme of Draco’s mum’s favourite movie.</p><p>A kid next to him steps closer to the girl to see the piano and he tells her something in Italian, which Draco is almost completely sure sounds like “Sei bravissima”.</p><p>She’s <em> not</em>. He raises his eyebrows in doubt but, for some reason, he can’t walk away.</p><p>The girl notices him standing there. His face must be really saying it all, because she smirks and raises her chin.</p><p>“Something on your mind, you with the pepper face?” she asks with a playful tone.</p><p>“You happen to have some spare sunscreen?” Draco replies promptly. She wants to be the funny one… </p><p>“Sadly enough, I finished mine as well.”</p><p>Draco nods slightly, biting back a smile. She’s really charming, he has to admit.</p><p>“You do know you just tore a beatiful score down to pieces, don’t you?”</p><p>“Oh!” she exclaims, clapping her hands on her legs and looking back at the kid who’s still next to her and is hitting some random keys on the piano. “Looks like we’ve got an expert here!”</p><p>“I’m just stating facts,” Draco continues with a shrug. “So long as you’re aware…”</p><p>She’s still smiling, something glittering in her eyes.</p><p>“I bet,” she says grabbing the bag next to the stool and standing up, “that you’re one of those it’s-either-Beethoven-or-it’s-not-music kind of twats.” She lowers her voice towards the end and covers the child’s ears, patting then on his back to direct him back to his parents.</p><p>“You don’t even know if he knows English,” Draco comments.</p><p>“One can never be too careful, can they?”</p><p>Draco hums in agreement, shifting his weight to the top of his toes and back on his heels as she approaches him. He can see the rays of the sun cut through her eyelashes.</p><p>“And you got the twat part from…?” he gives her a teasing smile.</p><p>She studies him from head to toe, her gaze scrutinising his white shirt and his long linen trousers, and he feels his insides twist up a bit. Maybe he should have drank some more water.</p><p>“... everything about you?” she concludes, arching an eyebrow. Then moves her voluminous hair to one side to braid it, leaving a freckled shoulder bare to sight.</p><p>“Piano’s there,” she says with a shrug. “Why don’t <em> you </em> give it a try, smartass?” she whispers, leaning in slightly and eyeing the empty seat in front of the instrument.</p><p>Draco scoffs. He should leave it be. Besides, it wouldn’t be a fair game: he <em> was </em> born attached to a piano, after all, and has no idea if she can say the same.</p><p>But she’s looking at him with a clear challenge in her gaze and Draco Malfoy really can’t turn down a challenge.</p><p>“If you’ll excuse me,” he whispers back, gesturing for her to move and cracking his long fingers. She makes way for him with a smirk and twirls on herself to take his spot, crossing her arms together over her chest.</p><p>He sits on the stool and ponders for a second, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up past his elbows, checking out the keys with serious eyes. Who even put a piano in the middle of a city square for just anyone to play? Draco shoots a look at the girl standing in the front row, her thick braid falling on her side and a grin curling up the corner of her lips.</p><p>“Right, then,” he whispers to himself. “Italy calls for Italian music.”</p><p>He brushes the keys with his hands, looking for the right ones to start. When he’s in position, he begins playing <em> Nuvole Bianche </em> by Ludovico Einaudi.</p><p>His movements are slow and steady when he commences, as if he’s waiting for the instrument to open up to him, like he’s carefully petting a stray cat. He checks a couple of times how his fingers are moving at the beginning, but, once the melody starts building up, he lets his eyes close and his memory guides him.</p><p>As the crescendo of the symphony flows out of his fingers effortlessly, more and more people get closer to the piano from every corner of the square to listen to him play. They are in awe. Watching Draco Malfoy play the piano is a mesmerizing experience: he radiates a magnetic energy, which is able to put everyone in silent contemplation of his performance. He becomes one with the piano, guiding harmonies and pauses so beautifully and smoothly that he seems almost capable to stretch time to his own will. It’s like magic.</p><p>His wrists are steady on the keys, his hands spread wide to control the notes under them, but he lets his head move slightly following the tempo of the music, causing his perfectly combed hair to fall messily on his forehead. The crowd grows bigger and bigger but he’s blissfully unaware of them, completely lost in the rise and fall of his fingers, concentrated on the speed of the song. </p><p>The pace slows down a bit and the audience catches their breath, completely taken aback by the delicateness he’s putting in the touches, by the way his pale fingers run on the keyboard with the precision of a surgeon. He picks up the melody again and his whole body gets lost in the music, shoulders raising and then dropping, making him curve closer to the piano.</p><p>He hits the last note, accompanying it with an almost imperceptible exhale.</p><p>The sound lingers for a long second in the air as he opens his eyes and slowly lifts his hands from the keyboard.</p><p>A moment passes.</p><p>Then, the crowd erupts in a thunderous applause, shaking him out of his musical trance and making him turn to face their cheers.</p><p>Draco stands and swiftly bows to them, thanking everyone with his eyes. A couple of old ladies step closer to him to shake his hand. He’s sure he can hear someone sniffle. <em> That</em>’s how good he is.</p><p>When he knows the last side of the crowd he has to thank is the one where the curly haired woman is, he gets ready to a provocative gaze.</p><p>Little did he know that the beautiful smile she was giving him would have taken his breath away.</p><p>He stands up and walks towards her, one hand raised to scratch the back of his head.</p><p>“Well,” he says, when they’re back in front of each other.</p><p>“Well,” she echoes, her smile taking up her whole face. </p><p>Draco feels his thoughts slip out of his mind. She’s really beautiful.</p><p>“Well,” he repeats, gesturing for the piano before burying his hands in his pockets. “That’s how you do it.”</p><p>She stares at him for a couple of seconds, biting her lip, before starting to rummage in her handbag for a notebook. He frowns at her in confusion.</p><p>“That was truly unbelievable,” she tells him, opening the scribbled pages towards the end, huffing when she realizes that the last one is already filled with writing.</p><p>She looks at his bare forearm and in a heartbeat she has grabbed it and hastily pulled it closer to her, to then write something on it with a pen. Draco startles and widens his eyes but he doesn’t stop her. </p><p>He notices that the fingertips of her left hand are callous and her nails are cut short. <em> String instrument</em>, he immediately thinks. Maybe a guitar. Hands are a bit small for a guitar. Maybe she’s one of those who went big as a kid: the cello, maybe. The viola. Does she have classical training? Harp. Good old violin.</p><p>She finishes writing and puts back the cap she was holding between her teeth on the pen.</p><p>“If you’re free tonight, there’s this… I don’t know, let’s call it a party. With some friends. Maybe you can find someone who won’t tear scores down to pieces,” she says with a wink, gently tapping on his arm with the pen.</p><p>Draco looks at the scribble on his skin and realizes it’s an address. It doesn’t really sound familiar, but then again, nor does any other address in the city. Not that it matters anyway, since he’s not going.</p><p>“You can bring a friend. Or two. <em> If </em> there’s a friend, obviously,” she goes on, before checking her wristwatch, without giving him the time to answer her. “I’ll be there. Ask for Hermione,” she concludes with another bright smile.</p><p>Hermione turns around to leave and Draco follows her figure with his eyes, but then she turns again and stops a few meters away from him. The sun plays with the different shades of brown in her hair. Her sudden spin on her heels makes her skirt flutter a little around her thighs.</p><p>“I didn’t catch your name?”</p><p>He briefly clears his throat. “Draco.”</p><p>She smirks once more and he feels something in his chest warm up.</p><p>“Well, I hope to see you soon, Draco.”</p><p>And, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.</p><p>-</p><p>“Your friend’s got a date!” Blaise shouts upon entering the small apartment they’re renting for the month in Rome. </p><p>It’s late in the afternoon but Italy’s bright sun shines until late in the evening in August, so the place is still filled with light. There’s some muffled music coming from the bathroom that stops as soon as Blaise’s voice booms across the place, and someone speaks.</p><p>“First of all, he’s <em> your </em> friend,” the new masculine voice answers sarcastically. “And, second of all, does <em> she </em> have a friend?” </p><p>A skinny young man appears in the living room, a long towel wrapped around his pelvis and legs and another one he’s using to dry his black hair with messy pats as he leans against the door frame.</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes and lets himself fall ungraciously on the couch, kicking off his shoes. “It’s not a date. And you’re talking as if I’m planning on going.”</p><p>“You’re not going to stand a girl up, are you?” replies Blaise in a mock stern voice.</p><p>“That would be extremely impolite of you, Malfoy,” adds the other one, throwing his wet towel at Draco’s face.</p><p>“Thank you, Nott, but I’d prefer not to become your laundry hamper,” he replies, catching the towel before it can hit him and tossing it back at Theo’s feet.</p><p>The dark-haired man picks it up with a snort, then he heads to his bedroom to get dressed. “How did you meet her?” he shouts from the furthest side of the apartment.</p><p>The answer comes from Blaise, who grabs a chair, straddles it and crosses his arms on the backrest. “She’s a pianist. She was playing in a square,” he underlines the word <em> pianist </em> with a change of his tone and a wiggle of his eyebrows while nodding eloquently towards Draco, who groans and rubs his closed eyes with the heels of his hands.</p><p>“A <em> pianist</em>,” repeats Theo, emerging from the bedroom buttoning up his clean shirt. “Silly me. Of course you’d have a date with a pianist.”</p><p>“She’s <em> hardly </em> a pianist,” exclaims Draco, shooting killer looks to both his friends. “She was just <em> tapping </em> her fingers on a piano and I happened to hear her. It was supposed to be <em> Comptine d’une autre été</em>…”</p><p>“The one from <em> Amélie</em>,” Blaise specifies looking at Theo with his eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Oh, isn’t that Narcissa’s favourite?” Theo points out, faking surprise. </p><p>They all know it’s Narcissa’s favourite. Draco knows the soundtrack of the movie so well by now that he can play it at five times the regular speed without missing one single note.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, it is my mum’s favourite,” he drawls, still annoyed. “And this girl, she was just… I mean, you should have been there. There was blood in my ears,” he concludes, shuddering as he remembers the outrage.</p><p>“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Theo rolls his eyes as he walks towards the fridge in the open kitchen to grab some water.</p><p>“I am not!” Draco insists. “It was a mess. Truly, and…”</p><p>“And I bet you had to say something,” his friend mutters between sips.</p><p>Blaise snorts. “Of course he had to say something.”</p><p>“God forbid he ever shuts up,” Theo laughs, looking at the blond. </p><p>Blaise smirks and Draco throws a pillow at him with a grunt.</p><p>“How bad was it?” Theo goes on, now rummaging in the fridge to find something to eat.</p><p>“Her performance?” Draco asks rhetorically, knowing damn well that wasn’t what his friend meant.</p><p>“Sorry, I phrased that wrong,” Theo replies, waving a hand in the air before straightening himself and looking at Draco over the fridge door. “How bad were <em> you</em>?”</p><p>He sighs, resigned. “I just asked her if she was aware of the butchering she had just done.”</p><p>Theo gasps loudly, making Blaise almost choke on his own laughter. “You didn’t!” </p><p>“I could have said worse!” Draco exclaims defensively, standing up from the couch.</p><p>“That hardly justifies it,” Blaise mutters.</p><p>“You could have said nothing!” Theo agrees with his friend, causing Draco to grab a second pillow to aim at him, too.</p><p>Theo grabs a cloth on the sink to shoot back in retaliation but Blaise stops them waving his hands around to bring the attention back to the issue at hand.</p><p>“Yes, children, be quiet now!” he scolds them. Then urges Draco: “Tell him what <em> she </em> did.”</p><p>Theo throws the cloth over his shoulder and crosses his arms, biting an apple and looking at Draco waiting for him to continue.</p><p>“Well,” he says, falling back down on his seat and putting the pillow in his lap, “first of all, she called me a twat.”</p><p>“Fair,” says Theo, nodding seriously.</p><p>“I agree with her,” says Blaise, raising a finger in warning towards Draco who’s gripping on the pillow like he’s feeling lucky again.</p><p>“Piss off,” he mutters to the both of them. “Secondly, she told me I could have a go at it myself.”</p><p>“And?” </p><p>“What do you think he said?” Blaise looks at Theo as if he just asked whether the grass is green or purple.</p><p>“God, you’re like McFly from <em> Back to the Future</em>,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “If someone calls you a coward you just go mental. You should seek some help,” he concludes pointing at Draco with the bitten apple core.</p><p>“Look, there were people listening! They deserved a good performance, after she had just destroyed a beautiful piece. Why on Earth should I have let it go?” Draco tells them, his arms open in dismay.</p><p>“What did you play?” Theo asks, ignoring him.</p><p>“<em>Nuvole Bianche</em>,” Draco mutters back.</p><p>Theo scoffs. “Show off.”</p><p>Draco shoots him the billionth venomous look of the day. “Fuck off.”</p><p>“I bet you did that thing with your shoulders,” Theo continues unfazed, before looking at Blaise. “Did he do that thing with his shoulders?”</p><p>“Can’t say, mate. I was half-passed out on a bench on the other end of the square.”</p><p>“What?! You missed the whole thing?”</p><p>“Believe me, I’m as devastated as you are.”</p><p>“Anyway,” Draco says loudly to bring the attention back to himself. He got to this point, let him at least finish the story. “After that, she gave me an address.” He rolls his sleeve up and shows his arm to Theo, who bursts into laughter.</p><p>“You should have at least introduced her to us before letting her tattoo you, Malfoy,” he says, stepping closer to Draco to read the writing on his skin. “And?”</p><p>“<em>And </em> what?”</p><p>“And then? She gave you the address, <em> and</em>?”</p><p>“And nothing. She left,” Draco says matter-of-factly, pulling his sleeve back down.</p><p>“No time? No phone number?” asks Theo, a tad of incredulity in his voice.</p><p>“Nope.” Draco rolls down his sleeve, avoiding his friend’s gaze. </p><p>“She just left?” </p><p>“Yup.” </p><p>“No name?”</p><p>Draco hesitates. “Hermione.”</p><p>“Oh.” Theo seems to ponder it for a moment. “That’s a nice name.”</p><p>“I think it’s Greek,” Blaise says, reminiscing his English class days.</p><p>“Yeah, it was Helen’s daughter,” confirms Draco.</p><p>“Is she Greek?” Theo asks with a frown.</p><p>“Didn’t sound like it. London accent, actually.” </p><p>“What did she look like?” Theo goes on, sitting on the couch next to Draco.</p><p>He looks at him sideways. “Why do you care?”</p><p>“Come on, man,” Theo says, giving him a light push. “What did she look like?”</p><p>“She, uh…” Draco sighs, closing his eyes and taking his face in his hands, elbows leaning on his thighs.</p><p>Not that he doesn’t remember. He can clearly picture her fingers running over the piano. Her freckled shoulder. Her curly fringe. The glittering in her eyes, both from the sun and that peculiar something he couldn’t give a name to. Her round face, her plump lips curled up in a smirk.</p><p>He just doesn’t want <em> them </em> to know how well he actually remembers her. They’re already annoying as it is.</p><p>“Not very tall, curly brown hair and brown eyes,” he says eventually.</p><p>“You can do better than this,” Theo teases him with another push.</p><p>“What else do you want me to say? I’m not bloody Shakespeare,” he exclaims, pushing him back.</p><p>“Was she cute?”</p><p>Draco looks at him with a loud exhale. “Yeah, Nott. She was cute. You happy?”</p><p>Theo smiles sardonically looking at the ceiling, before clapping his hands on his thighs.</p><p>“Right, then. We’re going!” he exclaims as happy as a kid who just got chocolate without any particular reason.</p><p>“No, we’re not,” Draco mutters, falling even more into the couch and stubbornly crossing his arms across his chest.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, we are,” Theo retorts, standing up with a jump. He leans closer to smell him and grimaces. “Get changed, you stink.”</p><p>“We’re not going!” Draco yells, slapping a hand on the couch and glaring at his friend’s back as he heads to his room.</p><p>“You have other plans, Malfoy?” Theo asks, turning around to face him.</p><p>“You can go,” he says, crossing his arms again. “I’m staying here.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> can’t go alone,” Theo says, drawing attention to himself pointing at his chest.</p><p>“Take Zabini.”</p><p>“Don’t throw me into this,” the other man exclaims quickly while Theo rolls his eyes. “Besides, <em>I </em> have plans, unlike you two.”</p><p>“That, <em> and </em> I can’t take Zabini, you useless prat, because <em> he </em> isn’t the one with an address written all over his forearm.”</p><p>“Just go alone then, I don’t care,” Draco concludes, throwing his head back on the couch and closing his eyes dramatically.</p><p>“Christ, Malfoy! You’re going to have a shower, put a clean shirt on and we’re going to go to this thing your new muse has invited you to. And that’s final!” Theo booms, before turning around one last time and storming away.</p><p>“She’s <em> not</em>…” </p><p>“Oh, shut the fuck up,” and the slam of a door reverberates throughout the flat.</p><p>Blaise chuckles at Draco’s grimace. “Cheer up, mate! It’s a party, it’s not the end of the world.”</p><p>The blond groans audibly and then drags himself to the bathroom to shower.</p><p>As he strips down to his underwear, he looks at the scribble on his arm, passing his finger on it, weirdly remembering Hermione’s warm touch. Her writing is precise and round, and he brushes his skin following the arched letters for a few instants, before grabbing his phone and typing the address in the maps to check how far away it is from their place.</p><p>40 minutes by foot. Maybe he can still prey on Theo’s laziness and convince him to drop it.</p><p>11 minutes by car. Let the day the prick decided to rent a scooter be damned.</p><p>-</p><p>The building is in an elegant neighbourhood in a residential area not far away from Villa Ada. The facade is painted in a pastel shade of pink, with geometric decorations in between the windows and the balconies. There are noises coming from the visible top terrace, some distorted music and colourful lights: Draco eyes it as Theo parks the scooter in front of the entrance.</p><p>“I’m fairly certain that’s the place,” he says pointing at it with his chin. “But I don’t have a surname for the intercom…”</p><p>But Theo is already at the main door, pushing it lightly.</p><p>“Worry not, my dearest boy,” he smirks. “It’s already open.”</p><p>The boys walk in through the long corridor that takes them to a small rounded courtyard. There’s a stone well in the middle, meticulously decorated with bas-relief. Plants growing everywhere, some innocuous ivy on the walls. By the structure and the decorations, it’s clear that the place is pretty ancient and yet well looked after. Theo looks at the many doors on the sides, unsure about which one to head for: with a quick glance to the top, they guess the right staircase where they take the elevator to the top floor.</p><p>As they lock themselves in the rusty lift, Draco looks at the various floors passing in front of them and he can feel an unusual sweat on his palms. Definitely not easened by Theo’s relaxed stance. He scratches his arm lightly, the writing didn’t entirely come off under the shower, no matter how long he had rubbed at it.</p><p>When they exit the elevator, they let the noise guide them once more towards the right door.</p><p>“Well, then,” Theo says when Draco hesitates with his finger on the doorbell. “What the bloody hell are you waiting for?”</p><p>The loud noise of the bell is quickly followed by the smiling face of a redhead, who opens the door with a bright look in her eyes.</p><p>“Buonasera! Posso aiutarvi?” she asks letting her curious gaze ping back and forth from Draco to Theo.</p><p><em> Right, this is still Italy</em>, Draco thinks, shaking his head quickly. He really just expected her to speak English.</p><p>Theo is already stepping up to show off his awful – <em> awful </em> – Italian skills, but Draco stretches his hand to touch the jamb of the door, making him clash chest-first against his arm.</p><p>“Erm, sorry… Do you speak English? I’m Draco, I was told to come here by Hermione…” he trails off, already picturing the ginger telling them they got the wrong door, the wrong house and even the wrong building. <em> He knew he shouldn’t have come. </em></p><p>Instead, the girl lights up even more and smacks her palm to her forehead.</p><p>“Oh, God, yes, Hermione! You must be the pianist!” she yells pointing at Draco. </p><p>He raises his eyebrows, a surprised noise escaping his lips. He can feel Theo sneering behind him but decides to ignore him and to keep his focus on the hostess, who’s still talking to them, unaware of the consequences to her words. </p><p>“Sorry about the Italian, I just… never mind. Please, come on in! Shoes off, please,” she goes on, making way for them through the door. </p><p>Draco and Theo step in and leave their shoes with the countless others next to the door.</p><p>“I’m Ginevra, by the way,” the girl says, stretching her hand out for Draco to take it, “but you can call me Ginny.”</p><p>Draco shakes it and then proceeds to introduce Theo, but his voice fades away when a nebulous mass of chestnut hair appears in the doorframe and his breath catches.</p><p>“...Theo. I’m Theo,” his friend says, taking Ginny’s hand and shoving Draco out of the way. “And I’m not half as rude as my plus one is, I promise.”</p><p>Ginny chuckles. “I think he just got distracted,” she smirks, cocking her head towards Hermione, whose face is glowing with a beautiful smile as she approaches the trio.</p><p>She has changed in a dark yellow dress that gracefully wraps her silhouette, still leaving her lean legs exposed. Her small fringe falls unevenly on her forehead, the shadow of her curls on her pink cheekbones. Her lips are coloured in a dark shade of red. And her eyes are still flickering with that ineffable thing Draco can’t quite pinpoint.</p><p>He knows– Draco just <em> knows </em> that Theo is having the time of his bloody life seeing him frozen on the spot. But he can’t bring himself to look away from <em> her</em>.</p><p>“Make yourself at home, boys,” Ginny concludes before running away when she hears someone shout her name.</p><p>Hermione is standing face to face with Draco now, head tilted to the side.</p><p>“Do you know about the existence of these things called ‘t-shirts’?” she asks, bringing a hand up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. </p><p>Draco snaps out of his trance and glances away with a smirk. He’s about to come up with a sarcastic remark but, once again, she doesn’t give him the chance to speak.</p><p>“Oh, so you <em> do </em> have a friend,” she says, turning to his friend to shake his hand. “Theo, was it? I’m Hermione.”</p><p>“Pleasure’s all mine, Hermione. My friend here,” he says, emphasising the word <em> friend </em> with a glance at Draco, “tells me you’re a pianist.”</p><p>Draco’s head snaps back to look at them and he can see Theo’s gaze holding back everything he’s dying to scream at him, it’s a challenge not to roll his eyes.</p><p>“Oh my, Draco, you’re already talking about me, I’m flattered!” Hermione says gasping and bringing a hand to her chest in mock surprise, as he clears his throat and looks around, terrified by the flush he can feel taking up his cheeks. </p><p>Theo snorts and Hermione giggles at Draco’s expression as she shows them the way to the living room.</p><p>“I’m not really a pianist, by the way,” she says while they’re walking. “I was just trying something. My boyfriend– well, my ex boyfriend,” she goes on, oblivious to Theo's elbow deep in Draco’s gut, “he’s the pianist and he tried to teach me a couple of songs in the past. But according to your companion here, I’m more of someone who… <em> tears scores down</em>. Isn’t that right, Draco?” Hermione concludes with a grin, turning around to let her back lean against a door.</p><p>“That’s what you were doing,” he says, trying to keep his tone as relaxed as possible and his eyes on her… <em> s</em>. On her <em> eyes</em>. <em> Get a bloody grip</em>.</p><p>Hermione shrugs with a smile as she pushes the door open, and Draco feels his jaw go slack. The living room is huge and there’s a light night breeze coming from the opened terrace doors. There are people everywhere: some outside, some on the couch, some other on the large carpets… and everyone, <em> every single one of them </em> is holding an instrument close. There’s a group playing trumpets, another with flutes, and he spots a couple of oboes, too. The sound of an electric guitar comes from an indefinite place, while someone is playing the beautiful black pianoforte in the middle of the hall.</p><p>“So,” Hermione’s voice forces Draco to bring his gaze back on her. Not that it’s that difficult of a thing, at this point. “Drinks and food are over there,” she points at one corner of the room. “You guys had dinner? Ginny’s grandma has prepared…” but Theo cuts her off with a yelp when he sees the large table full of incredible-looking goods and makes a beeline for it.</p><p>Hermione chuckles and then looks up at Draco, who tries and fails to drive his eyes away from her before she catches him staring.</p><p><em> What are you, twelve? You think she didn’t notice you staring? </em> tells him a voice in his head. He tries to silence it with a harsh clench of his jaw, but it doesn’t really go away.</p><p>He mentally shakes his head, then clears his throat. “I’d like to point out that Ginevra said ‘You must be the pianist’ when I introduced myself, so…” he smirks down at her, “you’re already talking about me <em> as well</em>.”</p><p>Hermione’s smile widens. Her cheekbones lift up when she smiles, her eyes narrow a little. And there’s a natural flush to her cheeks that he wonders whether they’re as warm as he thinks.</p><p>She raises a hand and gently passes it on his forearm, until she reaches his wrist. Her fingers linger there for a moment in which Draco holds his breath. His mouth suddenly dry, he’s sure she can feel his muscles tighten under her touch.</p><p>Hermione wrinkles her nose slightly before speaking again.</p><p>“I’m glad you could make it.”</p><p>Draco locks eyes with her, and it’s a second that lasts a lifetime. He draws a sharp breath and Hermione retires her small hand with a playful glint in her eyes.</p><p>After recovering from her warm touch, Draco scans the room to try and distract himself from her presence so close to him. “So, what is it that’s happening here? When you said ‘some friends’ I wasn’t expecting a concert crowd.”</p><p>“Oh, well,” says Hermione, jumping on a table next to him to sit down. Draco notices that her knees are resting dangerously close to his torso but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Ginny studied at the Conservatory and made friends with basically everyone there. All those people also have a lot of friends and her house is…” she waves a hand around, gesturing to the place, “well, <em> big</em>. So, every now and then, we all meet here to party and play.”</p><p>“And how do you two know each other?” Draco asks mindlessly, forcing himself not to let his eyes drift to her.</p><p>Hermione scoffs and slaps him lightly on the arm. She really has no idea how much even a brush of her body against Draco’s makes his senses awaken– or maybe she does, and she doesn’t care. Or, worse, she does it on purpose. Likely, given the look in her eyes. </p><p>“What makes you think I haven’t studied at the Conservatory, too?”</p><p>He tries to bite back his smile but it’s a lost cause. “Do you really want to talk about this afternoon again?”</p><p>“I swear I <em> can </em> play some songs!” Hermione laughs, and it’s one of the prettiest melodies Draco has ever heard. “I just don’t remember that one very well.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, miss…” and he realises he doesn’t know her surname. Which isn’t exactly ideal for him, given how Draco Malfoy would even call his own parents with their surnames, had he been given the chance. “Miss?”</p><p>“Granger. Have I not properly introduced myself yet?” she responds in a coquettish tone, stretching out her hand. “Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you. Mister…?”</p><p>“Malfoy,” he says, taking her hand in his. Her palm is warm and his long fingers wrap perfectly around her shorter ones. “Draco Malfoy. At your service.”</p><p>“Mister Malfoy,” she repeats, like she’s tasting the sound of it in her mouth. “That sounds… old?”</p><p>“You implying something, Granger?” There goes the Greek name, he thinks to himself.</p><p>“Who, me?” she pouts, giving him an innocent look, and Draco’s brain falters for a second. “Nothing further away from the truth!” she smiles at him, letting go of his hand.</p><p>“Well, you’d be right if you did. It is pretty old. My father would tell you the entire story but I’d skip that part, honestly,” he says, turning slightly so as to hide his right arm from her sight. His fingers flex to close in a tight fist. “You still haven’t answered my question.”</p><p>“Right! Ginny. Well, no, we haven’t met at the Conservatory,” she says and Draco chuckles lightly, “but through her cousin. You see the redhead by the piano?” Hermione points with her chin at the small group of people around the black Steinway. There’s a ginger head standing out amongst them, with a set of piercing blue eyes looking back at the two of them. </p><p>“That would be Ron, Ginny’s cousin. And my ex-boyfriend,” she adds, waving at him and making Draco frown. “Absolutely fantastic keyboardist, bit of a wanker but what can you do,” she comments with a shrug. </p><p>Draco is still looking at the redhead, Ron turns his face to talk to someone who caught his attention but Draco can clearly see the man’s jaw clenching. He has the sudden impulse of smiling, for some reason.</p><p>“We met when he and Harry,” Hermione goes on, pointing at the bespectacled boy with a mop of black hair sitting next to Ron, “were looking for a guitarist for their band and I auditioned.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re a guitarist,” Draco says looking back at her with a smirk.</p><p>“God, no,” she laughs, making his lips curl in a soft smile. “I auditioned because I lost a bet with another friend of mine.” She points at the third guy sitting by the piano, blond and round-faced. “That’s Neville and <em> he’s </em> a guitarist. And a fucking incredible one at that. Wasted with those two idiots, if you ask me,” Hermione says, raising her voice when she notices that now all three of them have turned around to see who she’s talking to. Neville laughs and finger-guns her while Harry just rolls his eyes and shows her the finger.</p><p>“Anyway, then Ron introduced me to Ginny and she and I became friends, so I still have to tolerate him to this day,” she concludes, her voice still loud as Ron stands up and approaches them.</p><p>“I can hear you just fine, you don’t need to scream,” he says when he’s in front of them.</p><p>Hermione blows him a kiss, before moving her hand back and forth between Draco and Ron to introduce one to the other.</p><p>“You the pianist?” Ron asks, offering his hand.</p><p>Draco resists the urge to shoot Hermione a meaningful look and shakes his hand. “In the flesh.”</p><p>Hermione looks briefly at their handshake and hides a grin with a sigh. Knowing Ron, he has probably put his whole strength into that single shake but has possibly lost the match because Draco’s grip is <em> tight</em>, as she has just found out. She finds Ginny’s gaze, who’s on the other side of the room talking to Theo, and her friend eloquently raises an eyebrow: she can see the sparks between the boys’ looks as well and shakes her head. Men.</p><p>With a clap of her hands, Hermione jumps down from the table. “Schubert or drink, anyone?” she asks, patting both Draco and Ron on the shoulder as scattered cheers spring up across the room. </p><p><em> Maybe she just has no bloody idea what personal space is</em>, Draco thinks when he feels her palm on his shirt again. Not that he’s complaining. <em> God</em>, no.</p><p>Actually, he’s beginning to hope she won’t just stop at those simple touches. There’s something there and he’s sure she can feel it, too. He just doesn’t know if they’re on the same page about what that something is.</p><p>“Does your friend here know what ‘Schubert or drink’ is?” Ron asks, eyeing Draco, who has to admit he has no clue what they’re talking about.</p><p>“It’s really easy,” Hermione begins, as Ginny promptly drags Theo to the piano and takes her seat on the stool, cracking her fingers. “You have to play a famous classical piece by heart and, every time you make a mistake, you drink a shot of whatever liquor you can find around you. We call it ‘Schubert or drink’ because it first started when Ron had to learn one of his pieces for… oh, I don’t remember. We got pretty hammered. That’s the whole reason why it became a game, actually.”</p><p>“At least I learnt the piece afterwards,” the redhead comments, grabbing a beer.</p><p>“Ron is proud to call himself the only one who can get through a whole Tchaickovsky without drinking a single drop,” Hermione says as her ex-boyfriend walks away, replaced by Theo who joins them again.</p><p>“Prat,” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough for his friend to hear.</p><p>“You haven’t even met the guy,” Draco replies in a whisper.</p><p>“Something about his face. Red hair irritates me.”</p><p>“You didn’t look irritated with Ginny.”</p><p>“Piss off,” Theo says with a half-kick to Draco’s knee. “Besides, she’s together with the glasses guy. My luck is not as good as yours, it would seem.”</p><p>Ginny begins playing a Bach with her eyes closed, and after a couple of seconds everyone in the room starts holding their breaths. She isn’t missing a single note and doesn’t look like the good streak is going to break anytime soon, until…</p><p>She skips a B flat and opens her eyes with a loud groan as the people around her start laughing and booing. Harry grabs a shot glass and fills it to the rim before handing it over to her with a comical face.</p><p>“That’s basically it,” Hermione says with a smile, turning towards Draco and Theo, as someone else sits at the piano and starts playing a Chopin. “They’ll just go crazy with every instrument now and, in a bit,” she leans in and lowers her voice, “after the famous pieces are finished and everyone starts expecting the difficult ones, Ron will sit on the stool and catalyze everyone’s attention.”</p><p>Draco scoffs. “You two have a weird relationship.”</p><p>“Oh, we’re good friends,” she replies, grabbing a glass and filling it up with what looks like sangria. “If I really hated him, he would know. Everyone would know. Here, you haven’t touched food since you got here,” and she passes the glass to Draco.</p><p>“This isn’t exactly ‘food’.”</p><p>“Oh my God, does he have to be such a prick about everything?” she asks Theo with a theatrical eye roll.</p><p>“I gave up on him a long time ago,” he shrugs in resignation.</p><p>Someone starts playing Debussy’s <em> Clair de lune</em>, making Theo immediately head back to the piano as soon as he hears the first notes. That piece is the one he prepared for his final exam at the Royal College of Music in London, and it took him countless hours sitting on the piano stool to get to the end of it flawlessly. Unfortunately, the repercussion was that both Draco and Blaise got a piercing headache that still kicks in whenever they hear the song. The boy playing it misses an E sharp and Theo shoves him out of the way to start the piece from the beginning.</p><p>“You don’t want to be here for his brags when he finishes,” Draco tells Hermione when his friend starts playing, his hand going to her back without even realizing it. </p><p>When his brain catches up with his body, though, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses gently, feeling the light cotton of her dress under his palm. The thought that the fabric is the only thing keeping his hand from touching her bare skin makes his heart do somersaults in his chest. </p><p>Hermione ducks her head, a mass of curls covers her face for a moment. When she peeks at him from under her eyelashes, a small, satisfied smile tugs the corner of her mouth in a shape that Draco wants to trace with his fingers. He blinks away the sudden thought, and guides her towards the open terrace. </p><p>Outside, the night is hot and the sky is clear. There’s a half moon in the sky and the city is flickering with lights. Ginny’s place is on the last floor of the building, therefore Rome’s skyline is perfectly visible from the terrace, from the unmistakable curve of the San Pietro’s dome to the outline of the Altare della Patria. </p><p>Draco’s breath is taken away by the beauty of it: his eyes wander between the urban yellow-ish streetlights, taking in the grandeur of the Italian capital. The buildings are uneven and coloured in different shades of brown, red and orange, plants fall down from the balconies, massive and ancient architectures are justapoxed to modern constructions, and here and there the villas leave large spots of green on the cityscape.</p><p>“Quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Hermione says softly, leaning her back against the parapet. “Ginny says that her grandmother always tells her about the time when glow-worms used to fill Rome. Can you imagine? It would be magical.” She lets her head drop back a bit and her hair falls away from her shoulders, dangling down her back. </p><p>Draco looks at her curls bounce delicately, catching the moonlight. He diverts his attention to his glass, to stop himself from grabbing a lock and twisting it around his fingers.</p><p>“Is it your first time in Italy?” she goes on, closing her eyes. Her eyelashes cast a long shadow on her cheekbones.</p><p>“Actually, no,” says Draco, turning around and leaning on the parapet next to her. “I’ve been here a couple of times with my family already, but… I don’t know, there’s something about this city that just gets me every time like it was the first.”</p><p>Hermione nods quietly, her eyes still closed. Draco turns his head to look at her. Her collarbone is exposed, her chest is rising and falling evenly with her breathing. The colourful lights of the place play with her features as her mouth stretches out in a soft smile. She has lost a bit of lipstick but her lips are still tinted with red. She looks ethereal, and content. Something skips inside Draco’s chest at the thought that it might be because of him.</p><p>He takes a sip from his drink. “How about you?”</p><p>“Ginny lives here. We’ve been coming every summer for the last three or four years now, Harry, Ron, Neville and I.” She opens her eyes and cocks her head to the side, letting her chin rest on her shoulder to look at Draco. “How long are you staying for?”</p><p>“We’re leaving at the end of the month,” he says holding her gaze. </p><p>She’s so close, an arm’s length away. Her nose is cute.</p><p>Most people have headed back inside to play or witness the performances. There’s a boy lying on the ground and staring at the sky, a couple of girls on the other end of the terrace curled up in an armchair and exchanging tender cuddles. Theo is still playing: the notes diffuse in the air unblemished and faultless as he moves flawlessly through the melody.</p><p>“I think he’s gonna beat Ron’s record,” Hermione says, her voice low and soft.</p><p>Draco chuckles lightly. “He <em> does </em> know it perfectly. Had to learn it for an exam. Did you know that Disney wanted to use it in <em> Fantasia</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, is this your flirt talk, Malfoy?” Her tone is playful and her eyes are alive with mischief, but they hold something else, too.</p><p>“What makes you think I’m flirting, Granger?” </p><p>Draco puts his glass down between them on the parapet and turns his body towards her.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she sniggers, sticking out one finger. “First, there was that whole thing with the piano.”</p><p>“It was really bad,” he smiles.</p><p>She turns towards him and sticks out another finger. “Then you come to the party.”</p><p>“Which you invited me to.”</p><p>Hermione scoffs dramatically, ignoring him and sticking out a third finger. “Then, oh gosh, the hand on my back? What is this, a period drama?”</p><p>“The accent would be right,” he chuckles.</p><p>“Bold move,” she concedes, leaning in imperceptibly. A curl from her fringe falls out of place and Draco’s fingers twitch when he restrains himself from putting it back where it was.</p><p>“In my defense, your hands have been all over the place as well,” he responds, locking his gaze with hers. The shimmering in her hazelnut irises makes Draco’s chest warm up with anticipation. “Maybe you’re the one flirting, Granger.” His voice is husky, and he doesn’t miss her eyes drifting to his lips.</p><p>“Hm,” she mutters letting her eyes wander around for several moments before burying them back into Draco’s. “Fair point. Am I?”</p><p>Hermione steps closer until their chests are inches apart.</p><p>Draco towers over her: she’s <em> small</em>, a foot shorter than him, and yet he’s terrified of what she’s making him feel. Conflicting emotions are twirling around his mind, but all he wants to do is lift his hands, grab her waist and pull her to him. </p><p>He wants to feel her. The warmth radiating from her body. Her soft curves. He wants to bury his face in her hair and inhale its floral scent. So inviting… </p><p>His muscles spasm under the urge to move. Every new breath he takes is heavier, trembling. He doesn’t know why he’s holding back. He’s not usually like this. Actually– he’s never like this. What he wants, he takes. </p><p>Not Hermione. She makes him feel unstable on his own feet, insecure in his own skin. There’s something about this girl’s determined look that makes Draco freeze on the spot, locked in his position until she’ll make the final move. Because he knows Hermione is going to do something: the waiting might be making him die with impatience and anticipation, but it’s also shaking him to his very core.</p><p>Hermione looks down at his left arm: he has rolled his sleeves up and she can see the scribble she left there, barely visible now. Slowly, she brings her hand to his skin and starts tracing the ink ever-so-slightly, making Draco inhale sharply. She lets the pads of her fingers run down his forearm, her short nails barely grazing his skin and yet sending goosebumps throughout his body. </p><p>He still doesn’t know what instrument she plays.</p><p>Before she can reach his hand, Draco’s arm twists and he gently grabs her elbow, finally pulling her closer to him. His other hand cups her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline, and Hermione is a heartbeat away. He can feel her warm breath against his cheek, flecks of gold shine in her wide, round eyes. She holds her breath when he leans down and... </p><p>“Hermione!”</p><p>Draco silently curses, then sighs heavily. He lowers his head to his arm as Hermione turns towards the voice coming from inside. His hand is still on the nape of her neck when she reaches for his wrist, holding onto it, and looks back at him with the beginning of a laugh on her face. He meets her eyes, his tongue involuntarily running over his lips. This time her eyes linger on the movement without shame, and when she looks up again, he can see she’s trying to conceal the disappointment. </p><p>“Talk about timing,” she whispers with a small smile, her thumb stroking his knuckles.</p><p>Draco bites his lower lip to suppress any words he knows he has no right to say, then nods and lets her go. “Won’t keep you any longer.”</p><p>Hermione scoffs, then twirls on her heels to go meet whoever called her. Before entering the living room, she turns around and with a mocking smile she bows to Draco. He rolls his eyes at her antics and leans back against the parapet, washing away the dryness in his mouth with a generous sip from his forgotten glass. </p><p>He looks at her back as she walks away, his eyes eager to drink her in for as long as he can: her shoulder blades, barely visible under the volume of her hair; the fabric of her skirt, fluttering around with every new step; her scent, still lingering in the air around him. Running his hand down his face, Draco loudly clears his throat and with his eyes follows her trail until he can’t see the mass of curls he’s growing fond of way too quickly anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><i>Sei bravissima</i>: You’re very good.<br/>
<i>Buonasera! Posso aiutarvi?</i>: Good evening! Can I help you?</p><p> - </p><p>We thrive on comments :) You can also find us on twitter as <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a>.<br/>
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        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. κέφι</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Kéfi</b></i> is the spirit of joy, passion, and enthusiasm which overwhelms the soul and requires a release. People release <i>kefi</i> by doing things like breaking plates and dancing on tables.</p>
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</p><hr/><p>Theo has finished playing and is talking to an assorted group of people while someone else is playing a Brahams with the clarinet. Hermione is standing next to two new redheads, who look both so alike and so like Ron and Ginny that Draco actually wonders how much alcohol there was in that sangria. She hugs one of them tightly and Draco sees the man’s eyes flash at him as soon as he steps into the room.</p><p>“‘Mione, one of these days you’ll have to stop seizing every human male you find around. We can’t keep falling into your traps, it’s becoming too much,” the tall redhead says letting her out of his embrace, as Draco gets closer. </p><p>“<em>We</em>? You fell into my traps, too?” Hermione asks, cocking a perfect eyebrow.</p><p>“Wasn’t that obvious by now?” the other man answers for him, patting who must be his twin brother on the shoulder, his hand already stretching out to catch Draco’s. “I’m George, by the way. Our lady friend here tells us you’re a pianist.”</p><p>“God, you’re obsessed,” Draco tells her jokingly, then shakes George’s hand to introduce himself.</p><p>“She has a soft spot for pianists,” the other twin says, shaking Draco’s hand as well. “I’m Fred, and Hermione will never admit it but she’s had a crush on me ever since she saw me for the first time.”</p><p>Maybe Theo’s right. Maybe there <em> is </em> something unsettling about red hair.</p><p>Except for the shape of their noses and the colour of their eyes, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny all look absolutely identical to Draco. The twins are definitely older than the cousins, though, and he has to admit that there’s a new spark in Hermione’s gaze when she looks back at Fred to smack him on the chest. A spark that he’s sure wasn’t there with anyone else.</p><p>Whatever. It’s not like <em> Fred </em> was out on the terrace with her, just minutes ago.</p><p>“Have you met our brother yet?” Fred snickers, eyeing Ron who’s making his way to the piano stool. “He’s the one who proudly holds the pianist title, as he’s about to show everyone.”</p><p>“Wasn’t really happy when he heard all this talk about your great performance,” George quickly adds, grabbing a handful of crisps and shoving them in his mouth.</p><p>Hermione leaves them to join Ginny and a couple of other girls at the opposite end of the room. Draco just can’t take his eyes off of her as he listens to the twins talk: and he was saying that <em>she </em>was the one obsessed with him…</p><p>“Anyway, now he’ll start playing Mozart’s <em> Rondo alla Turca </em> because he’s drunk and when you’re drunk you mess up the tempo, the pressure on the keys and everything else you can mess up,” George goes on as his little brother cracks his fingers and measures the keyboard.</p><p>“But he <em> won’t </em> mess up because he’s the great and legendary Ronald Weasley. Cheers, mate!” Fred exclaims, raising his glass to Ron, who shoots him a deadly glare. </p><p>Draco laughs under his breath. Maybe Fred is not so bad. </p><p>When Ron starts playing, Draco has to admit that he’s actually up to his reputation. His fingers move rigorously on the keys and his wrists are controlled. His eyes shift left and right to catch where to hit the right notes and to check on his own hands. The rhythm flows smoothly as Ron taps the heel of his foot to the allegro. </p><p>Harry takes a hold of Ginny and makes her spin, followed suit by Neville who does the same with Hermione. Draco notices Theo scoffing between the teeth and glaring at the man that has Ginny in his arms. He’s about to walk to his glowering friend, when Ron slips on one note in the arpeggio, making the blond pause, frown and focus his attention back on the music.</p><p>Ron repeats the same sets of keys. Maybe Draco heard wrong. Maybe he– and <em> there</em>. Slips again, on the same one.</p><p>“Yeah, you heard that right,” George says, casually resting his arm on Draco’s shoulder. “He always misses it.”</p><p>“Why isn’t he stopping?” </p><p>He skipped a note. Twice. That’s the game. You skip, you drink.</p><p>“He either hasn’t noticed…” Fred begins.</p><p>“Unlikely,” George jumps in.</p><p>“…or he has, and just hopes no one’s paid enough attention,” the twin concludes with a shrug.</p><p>“You both have paid enough attention. I have paid enough attention,” Draco says flatly. Ron skipped a bloody note.</p><p>George turns around to look at him with a humorous expression while Ron keeps on playing. “You want to crash the man’s pride, Malfoy?”</p><p>“I mean, I for one think it would do him some good. Don’t you agree, George?” Fred asks, seemingly pondering the option.</p><p>“You absolute rascals! On with it, then,” his twin resolves, waving his hands around.</p><p>Draco clears his throat and steps forward, glaring at the twins snickering behind him who left him to do the dirty work. Redheads. </p><p>“Oi, mate. You skipped a note.”</p><p>Ron stops playing abruptly and everyone in the room goes silent. Theo’s grin takes up his whole face and Hermione covers her mouth, opened in a silent gasp, with a hand. Her eyes go back and forth from Draco to Ron as she grips Neville’s arm, and it feels like the entire room is holding their breath. </p><p>“Come again?” Ron asks, slowly turning his angry gaze towards Draco.</p><p>“You skipped a note. I believe you have to take a shot of... whatever.”</p><p>You could hear a pin drop in the following silence. </p><p>“I didn’t skip a note.”</p><p>“Yeah, little brother, you did. Twice,” Fred echoes, surprising Draco. “Don’t look at me like that, remember who taught you how to play the thing,” he gestures towards the instrument. </p><p>George shrugs, then grabs a drink and looks at his brother unapologetically. </p><p>Draco puts the glass he’s holding down on a nearby table, then walks to the piano, his movements followed by every person in the room. He steps close to Ron and lets his long fingers rest on the white keys. </p><p>“This is what you did,” he says, before playing the arpeggio sequence, replaying Ron’s mistake. </p><p>Again, it goes unnoticed by almost everyone, but Ron hears it. Or had already heard it. Not the point: Draco knows Ron can feel Hermione’s eyes burning on their backs, too, and, right now, all he can think about is how they must look to her. </p><p>Maybe Nott and Zabini do have a point when they say he can’t shut up for the life of him. But how could they blame him? Hermione’s virtuoso pianist ex-boyfriend slipped on a bloody note. He <em> had </em> to call him out.</p><p>“While <em> this</em>...” Draco continues, going over the same notes once more, this time executing the melody perfectly. “This is how you should do it.” He grabs the glass Ron had left on the coffee table and fills it with some liquor, handing it to the redhead who’s still looking at the keyboard, lips pressed together and hands closed in tight fists. “Drink.”</p><p>Ron’s ears are purple when he takes the drink from Draco’s fingers and he swallows it in a fraction of second as everyone around them starts cheering and chanting idiotic slogans. Draco holds his gaze when the redhead looks back at him and reads the challenge in his eyes before he says it out loud.</p><p>“Piano’s waiting,” Ron grumbles among the shouting.</p><p>“Not for much longer,” Draco smirks.</p><p>“Everyone, give it up for Hermione’s pianist!” Fred shouts as Draco takes Ron’s place on the stool, and George and the others follow him with an applause.</p><p>Draco’s smug smile falters imperceptibly when he peers at Hermione from under his blond fringe, over his shoulder: she’s resting with her chin on Neville’s shoulder, looking cosy. Her eyes, though… They’re locked on <em> him</em>, a huge smile taking up her features. </p><p>She winks at him when their eyes meet across the room, and Draco feels as though they’re sharing a secret that no one knows about.</p><p><em> Hermione’s pianist</em>. Yeah, that sounds about right.</p><p>He brings his attention back to the task at hand and hesitates for a second, his hands hovering over the keys. Should he go all in? How much of an absolute prat can he actually be? How loud does he want everybody to cheer him? How long will he be able to bear Theo’s mockery afterwards? How red does he want Ron’s ears to turn? How <em> much </em> does he want to impress Hermione?</p><p>Well. That last one’s easy. <em>A lot.</em></p><p>Draco starts playing the third movement of Beethoven’s <em> Moonlight </em>sonata.</p><p>“Oh, fuck off,” Ron groans as soon as Draco’s fingers start running like wildfire on the keyboard and everyone in the room collectively seems to gasp. Hermione hears him, and she’d pinch him, if she wasn’t absolutely unable to take her eyes off of Draco.</p><p>His hands fly over the piano, his touch incredibly fast and yet precise and scrupulous, almost religious. His eyes narrow and focus solely on the keys: just like earlier in the day, he becomes forgetful of the audience around him, giving exclusive attention to the instrument in front of him. The tension between Draco and the black piano ignites a spark in every single person listening in awe every time his fingertips touch the keys.</p><p>“Fucking talented bastard,” Theo mumbles with a smug grin as he walks to Hermione. “Look at his bloody shoulders going up and down.”</p><p>She bites the inside of her cheek, because… well, because she <em> is </em> looking. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him even if she wanted to. Draco’s back faces them and Hermione can’t help but stare at his muscles stretching as his arms move left and right to catch the right keys. In her defence, the light in the room easily cuts through the white fabric of his shirt. </p><p>But it’s also true that the thought of how he’d look underneath has been nagging at her ever since she saw him standing in the middle of the square covered in sunlight. There’s also a slightly pesky thought that mixes the sight of his hair falling out of place when he plays and the idea of her fingers combing through it– but Hermione’s not really sure she’s pinpointed that one exactly right.</p><p>She forces herself to pull her gaze away from him to look at Theo standing beside her and shaking his head lightly. He turns and smirks at her, and she has to hold her laughter back. There’s a bubble of excitement in her chest that’s been amplified by the beautiful passion Draco is putting in his performance, and she feels like she’s going to burst soon. She lets her eyes wander around as the impeccable and feverish melody fills her ears, and her smile grows wider at every new set of shocked eyes she sees.</p><p>Every face is the depiction of astonishment, marvel and awe are written all over everyone’s features. The room is in religious silence, hearts and minds captured by Draco’s fingers caressing and hitting the keys at an impossibly fast speed. The earlier smug grins of the twins are replaced by looks of shock, both Harry and Ginny’s mouths are ajar, Ron is begrudgingly swallowing a new drink, and another friend of Hermione approaches her.</p><p>“‘Mione?” she whispers when she’s close enough.</p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p>“Is that…?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Holy…” her friend’s eyes widen when Draco lets his hand rise the moment he gets to a longer pause in the melody and then fall again on the piano with the accuracy of an archer hitting the target. “… <em> fuck</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>,” Hermione repeats in a breathy voice.</p><p>Draco’s hands are running so rapidly over the piano that it’s almost impossible to distinguish one finger from the other. She feels her own heartbeat match the rhythm of the music and quiver to its crashing speed, throbbing following the rush of apprehension and yet absolute satisfaction that washes over her as every new note masterfully follows the other.</p><p>Hermione briefly wonders what kind of moonlight Beethoven must have been experiencing to come up with such a core-shaking song: something that’s just so far away from the perfect and incorrupt idea of it that fills centuries of folklore. It’s not the star-crossed lovers meeting in the garden under a new moon. It’s not the witch getting her spell ready with her covent under the rays of the white satellite. It’s not the werewolf turning into a beast under a full moon. It’s all that, and much more at the same time.</p><p>Maybe, she thinks, it was something like what she tasted with Draco on the terrace.</p><p>Well, not <em> tasted</em>. Not really.</p><p><em> Not yet</em>, her longing heart murmurs.</p><p>“I just… I can’t stop looking at his hands,” her friend says breathlessly.</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Hermione replies in a whisper.</p><p>When Draco finally lifts his hands sharply after hitting the last note, there’s a moment of complete silence in which no one even blinks. He looks at the keyboard and reconnects with his body, as his fingers start sending violent impulses to his brain complaining about the draining performance. But before he can start massaging his hands like he’s used to after performing a complicated piece, someone behind him seems to get out of the collective stupor.</p><p>Draco snaps his head up as soon as Harry’s loud clapping shakes the audience awake: the applause that follows is deafening. All the people who were sitting on the floor or couches are now standing up and cheering at the top of their lungs, enthusiastically clapping and occasionally whistling to show their appreciation. Draco is almost overwhelmed by it; he’s quite surprised by it, for sure. He’s well aware of his talent and he’s had his fair share of standing ovations in his life, but what he sees when he stands – a small “Thank you” on his lips – and makes a 360 to briefly look at everyone in the room, almost takes his breath away.</p><p>Something his teachers always told him was to never let the audience feel like you expected their praise or, worse, didn’t appreciate it enough: so he always makes sure to let everyone know how much he’s grateful for and loving the applause (and he <em> is </em> loving it, there’s no point in denying it). Mostly, he makes an effort not to look too smug when he’s finished playing. Even if, given the circumstances, that looks like a pretty difficult task for Draco right now, especially when he catches a glimpse of Ron’s hostile look.</p><p>People start gathering around him to congratulate him and the first one who’s able to get into his view is Harry, who grabs his hand to shake it, his eyes wide with admiration behind the rounded glasses.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Hermione told us you were good but… that went beyond every conceivable expectation. I mean, mate, that was… that was…” Harry stumbles to find the right words.</p><p>“Well, um, thank you. Thank you, I really appreciate it,” Draco says with a sheepish smile, his hand still in Harry’s. </p><p>He incidentally muses about how his grip must feel, after the long finger-tiring experience he has just put his hands through– but Harry doesn’t really seem to be concerned with it, given how he’s basically shaking out of inertia at this point.</p><p>“Absolutely magnificent,” the dark-haired boy continues. He realizes he’s still holding Draco hostage only when Ginny puts a hand over his arm to call him back to reality. “Oh. Sorry,” he says shaking his head. “I’ll leave you. I just… I hope we’ll get a chance to talk? Um, later?”</p><p>“Will do,” Draco assures him, before getting sucked in a tornado of people and handshakes and conversations about music. </p><p>The twins are the first to steal him back from Harry to discuss the piece with him. When they’re satisfied with him, they promptly pass him over to some other person Draco hadn’t seen before. Then he’s passed to someone else. Then someone else, and someone else, moving from hand to hand like a letter missing its recipient, until he feels like he’s talked to the entire room. </p><p>(All but one person.)</p><p>“Malfoy!” shouts Theo over the chit chat around Draco, which makes a great excuse for the blond to escape the last group of people he’s talking to and go back to where he came from. </p><p>Draco makes his way through the crowd gathered in smaller groups and finds himself caught off guard when he sees his group’s new additions: a girl he hasn’t seen before, with waist-long blonde hair, comfortably sitting next to none other than Blaise Zabini.</p><p>“Look who I found,” Theo tells Draco pointing at Blaise with his chin.</p><p>Draco gives a puzzled look to his friend, who simply waves his hand around in a “I’ll explain later” gesture. </p><p>The young woman pats on the empty spot on the couch next to her, offering it to Draco who eagerly sits down, his lower back dying to get some support.</p><p>“That was quite a beautiful performance,” she says once he’s closed his eyes and has taken a couple of breaths. “Too bad we weren’t there to see the whole of it. But, if I am to believe both Hermione and Blaise, you really are deserving of all the praise, I suppose. Draco, was it?”</p><p>Draco opens an eye and looks at her sideways. There’s a peculiar aura of dottiness surrounding her, and something about the shape of her blue eyes gives her an ever-surprised look. Her slight Italian accent only adds character to the whole persona. Draco has no idea how, when or where Zabini met her.</p><p>“Yes, Draco. And, um… well, thank you. And you are?”</p><p>“Luna, nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand but I’m fairly certain that your fingers are begging for mercy right now, aren’t they?”</p><p>Draco holds his hands one in the other, gently squeezing on his sore phalanges and lets out a little chuckle. “They definitely are.”</p><p>Hermione appears in that moment and nonchalantly takes a seat on the armrest of the couch next to Draco, after greeting Luna with a kiss on her cheek and shaking Blaise’s hand. She crosses her legs and puts her hand on Draco’s shoulders, stroking it gently for a few moments. There’s a soft, serene expression on her features while she quietly looks around the room. </p><p>He glances at her, his insides once again stirring from her simple touch: all this pining in anticipation is starting to become too much. The performance soothed his senses a bit, playing the piano always has that effect on him; but there’s a different kind of tension boiling deep inside him, primal and unpredictable. </p><p>Hermione looks down at him for a second before turning to Luna, but it’s long enough for Draco to notice her tongue slipping out rapidly to caress her lower lip, before getting caught between her teeth. </p><p>A fuse is going to set him on fire, while she’s the epitome of composure. </p><p>“This would have been much easier, had I known that these two knew each other,” Luna is saying, falling back into the couch and absent-mindedly looking around the place. “And to think we weren’t even sure if we wanted to come,” she concludes looking at Blaise.</p><p>“Good thing we changed our minds, then,” he says with a shrug, opening up in a smile when his eyes meet the blonde’s. </p><p>Draco and Theo share a look, a million questions in their eyes. The dark-haired man clears his throat and voices one of them: “You know Ginny?”</p><p>“Ginevra and I used to go to high school together, before she decided to switch permanently for the Conservatory.”</p><p>“Oh, I thought… well, I don’t know what I thought.”</p><p>“Her English is pretty great because of her family, yes. But she’s one of us,” Luna says with a slight smirk. It looks odd on her angelic face, more significantly charged, somehow.</p><p>“Well, um, your English is good, too,” Theo replies to fill the weird sense of awkwardness that’s getting the best of him. </p><p>He’s not used to it. He’s the sarcastic one of the trio, he’s the no-nonsense guy. He’s the one his friends go to to get some help in getting their heads out of their asses. Nothing ever fazes him… </p><p>He gulps, sinking into the armchair he got a hold of. He hates redheads.</p><p>“I know,” Luna answers, making Hermione giggle a little, and Draco remembers once more how close she is to him.</p><p>Neville catches Draco’s attention a few steps away so he stands up with an apology to join him and Harry. The boys pat him on the shoulders congratulating him one more time and offering him a drink, and he gets lost in a pleasant conversation with them about their band and the projects they have for the future. </p><p>Harry tells him that, no matter how much Ron will hate both of them (“He’s my best friend but when he holds a grudge it’s forever,” he says with a roll of his eyes), he’d love to be able to contact him, will he ever be in a desperate need of a pianist, one day. Draco laughs and gladly agrees, earning another “Cheers, mate” and swallowing some more liquor. </p><p>He’s beginning to think he probably hasn’t eaten as much as he should have to absorb all the alcohol that’s entering his system, but right before he could seize some focaccine with olives on the nearby table, he hears Luna say something that makes his head snap back to the couch behind him.</p><p>“No offence, but I sincerely doubt you play it better than Hermione does.”</p><p>Luna’s hand is on Blaise’s thigh and Hermione is hiding her face in her glass, still sitting in the same spot.</p><p>“I mean, he could try. We used to say the same about Ron, and then…” Ginny trails off. She has joined the group and is now sitting in what was Draco’s spot, looking curiously at Blaise.</p><p>Blaise Zabini, his roommate.</p><p>Blaise Zabini, his oldest friend.</p><p>Blaise Zabini, the violinist.</p><p><em> Good old violin</em>.</p><p>“You play the violin?” Draco almost shouts, making Hermione turn around and give him a smug grin.</p><p>“Cat’s out of the bag,” she says, opening her arms in a shrug. “Too bad my memory’s not as good as yours so there’s really nothing I can play without the musical score. No matter the instrument,” she concludes with a wink.</p><p>“You can always play an original,” Luna adds, unaware of the consequences of her words. “You never seem to have issues with those,” she tilts her head to the side in such an innocent way that Hermione opens and closes her mouth several times with no sound coming out of it. </p><p>There goes her second secret being shared without her explicit consent.</p><p>Well, not that it was really a secret. Just to Draco. And she quite liked keeping him on his toes. </p><p>“You write originals?!” Draco gapes at the woman in front of him, unable to hide nor to explain his shocked tone.</p><p>“Is that <em> so </em> surprising, Malfoy?” she sniffs, taking another sip from her drink. </p><p>That makes Draco pause. The way Hermione holds herself is probably the first thing he noticed about her (after her gravity-defying mass of hair). Her posture, the way she moves and talks, it all screams confidence and determination. There’s <em> more</em>, though, something deeper. There’s an aura around Hermione that’s nothing like the ones of his fellow musicians. And he wasn’t sure until this very moment, but now Draco can see her wearing it like armor. Because he’s finally seeing a crack in it. </p><p>There’s a note of doubt in her eyes, cast downward while she pretends to pick at some stray threads of her dress. And he realizes it’s because of his reaction, because he did sound surprised. But that’s not what he meant. He’s about to clear things up, when he remembers something else. </p><p>“Wait. You said you didn’t study at the Conservatory.”</p><p>“Because I didn’t. My parents couldn’t afford both school and the Conservatory at the time, but I was so in love with music and the violin that they tried their hardest to make my dream come true. They had a friend who happened to be a violin teacher and they managed to make it work with private lessons. That’s how Neville and I met, actually,” Hermione smiled brightly at her friend. “It was his dad.”</p><p><em> String instrument. </em> And that note of doubt… Draco is slowly beginning to unravel the sweet enigma that is Hermione Granger, and it makes his heart swell with unfamiliar feelings.  </p><p>“My dad always says she was his best student and that she would have had a great chance at the Conservatory, but, alas, the lady’s stubborn,” Neville says, bouncing his shoulder with Hermione’s.</p><p>“You know school was my priority back then. I had other plans,” Hermione rolls her eyes affectionately at her childhood friend.</p><p>“Meaning?” Draco asks. </p><p>He’s still baffled at the news but his mind is already reeling at the prospect of Hermione playing <em> her </em> instrument. She was bad at playing that godforsaken piano, and now he understands why. And it’s not because she isn’t a musician. </p><p>It’s also true that Blaise is an exceptional violinist, the best Draco knows. But Luna said that he couldn’t possibly be better than Hermione, which is mindblowing in and on itself. But then again, so is <em> she</em>.</p><p>“Well. Law school,” Hermione says proudly.</p><p>“<em>What? </em>” Theo almost coughs up his own drink. Apparently Draco is not the only one who’s being left speechless at every new turn tonight. </p><p>“Oh, come on. I wanted to change the world! And I had outstanding grades, too.”</p><p>“Then, how did you end up <em> here</em>?”</p><p>Draco is looking at her and– it might be the alcohol in a mostly empty stomach talking, but there’s a glow to her that makes her look like she holds the keys to the secrets of the universe. Hermione smiles and, as her face lights up, Draco is stricken by the realization that his life will never be the same after this. After her. </p><p>His existence has always been linear, it’s never allowed incidents, mistakes or distractions. The plan was to become the best pianist of his generation, and he is well on track to accomplish that by his twenty-sixth birthday. His life couldn’t be more different from Hermione’s. </p><p>And yet, here she is, unraveling him piece by piece, by simply being herself. Draco knows that, if he let her, Hermione would lift the veil of the day-to-day monotony of his life: she would grab his hand and take him to unexplored places, she would shake him to his very core and gift him with unknown experiences and feelings. She would turn his rigid and planned-since-birth existence into real living. </p><p>In a staggering moment of clarity, he becomes aware that this girl could, in fact, change the world, <em> his </em> world. And, even more surprisingly, he <em> wants </em> to let her.</p><p>His eyes follow her hands tangling in her own hair, twisting a curl around a finger, once, twice, and he’s hypnotized, as something delicate and yet so intense hits him right in the chest. Something tightens inside of him and Draco feels inevitably drawn to her by a magnetic force. He has the sudden and inescapable urge to take her in the middle of the room and…</p><p>“I wasn’t committed enough,” her voice shakes him out of his thoughts. Right. Law school. “My classmates would read bills in their free time, and I’d write essays on unknown indie-alternative uprising stars,” Hermione says with a shrug. “Figured I’d take one out of their competition.”</p><p>“Well, what the bloody hell are you waiting for, then. Let us hear something!” Theo exclaimes, backed by the cheer of the room and the whooping of her friends.</p><p>“Yeah, Granger,” Draco echoes, hoping his voice isn’t coming out as rough as it sounds to him. The fierce look Hermione gives him is answer enough: the everlasting golden sparkle in her eyes is now a blazing fire, and he desperately wants to be consumed by it. “Let us hear something.”</p><p>A loud applause springs up, which makes Hermione stand up with a resigned sigh, but she can’t hide her smile. She does love playing. She thanks everyone with a nod and Draco goes to take her place next to Ginny, followed by Harry and Neville who sit on the carpet leaning their backs against the couch. He notices that Ron has disappeared somewhere, but the thought slips quickly out of his mind, too focused on following Hermione’s figure around the room to muse on anything else.</p><p>Hermione grabs someone’s violin, exchanging a few words with the guy offering it to her. She looks at it, weighing the instrument in her hands and slightly caressing the case, tracing her hand on the bouts and the waist. Her left fingers go to the neck and try out the strings, pressing here and there, before putting it on her shoulder with a smooth movement, adjusting her head on the chinrest. She grabs the bow and flips it once or twice in her hand, before dragging it quickly over the strings, letting a couple of bright and mellow notes out in the air.</p><p>“You shall forgive me that it’s not a Bach.” </p><p>She’s speaking to her audience, but when her eyes catch Draco’s and a smirk curls up her lips, he knows her words are meant for him. He shakes his head, smiling brightly like he rarely does. This girl… </p><p>Hermione moves her hair out of the way and takes her place in the middle of the room, right next to the piano. </p><p>“This one’s called <em> Hope</em>.” </p><p>In the silence of the room, she inhales deeply and closes her eyes, moving her hand on the fingerboard to find her starting point. She releases a steadying breath, and the music starts flowing.</p><p>The melody begins with a slow and deep sound, as to introduce her audience to the piece. Hermione is almost completely still, except for her right arm moving languidly, and lets the notes linger in the air one after the other, unhurriedly, almost evoking a long-lost echo faraway in the distance.</p><p>Then, her grip on the neck of the violin tightens and she lets the bow become the final extension of her limb, making it run over the strings as though she was tracing lines in the sand, and the music becomes compellingly wild. The notes follow each other with warm and full sounds, justapoxed by bright and airy climaxes she builds up to with impossibly tricky scales. </p><p>Draco feels his smile slowly fade away and get replaced by an expression of pure bewilderment as he looks at Hermione becoming one with her instrument, guiding the music rather than just with her fingers, with her whole body. Her small figure curves down to drag the basses out of the depths of the Earth and then her back straightens up again to reach the light that shines through the breaches of the tall trees composing the dark forest she’s taking her listeners through.</p><p>Her fingers spread on the strings like the legs of a spider, neatly touching the right spots to hit the soul of every person who’s caught up in her breathtaking performance. She moves her right arm and her head together like a perfectly oiled machine, making way for the bow to go up and then fall back down, and Draco realizes that his breath is following the rhythm she’s dictating with it.</p><p>The tempo slows down abruptly and everyone’s breath catches when she hits a sharp note and slowly brushes the bow against the lowest string, her little finger pressing at the edge of the fingerboard. Hermione’s head surges forward with the sudden pause and her mass of curls comes undone around her face: she exhales with her eyes closed and a lonely lock moves around following the wave of her breath. Unruffled, she pushes it all back with a slight turn of her head as she picks up the speed again, for one final rush through the woods and into the dazzling, glimmering, overwhelming light of… hope.</p><p>The room explodes in an applause that is unanimously tumultuous. Draco, too, immediately jumps upright, his heart beating so fast that he can feel it reverberate in his ears. Hermione lights up in a broad, stunning smile and bows to the cheering crowd bringing a hand to her chest to thank everyone. She gives the violin back to the young boy and they exchange a quick hug, but all Draco can look at is the guy’s arm snake around her waist. </p><p>He knows he won’t be able to hold back any longer. </p><p>Hermione makes her way back to their group through the ovation and that’s when Draco notices that all of his companions are standing, too, and clapping at a hand-scorching speed.</p><p>“Now, can you best that?” Luna turns to Blaise, who bursts into laughter and looks both apologetically and in resignation at Hermione. </p><p>“No, I definitely cannot best that.”</p><p>They all start complimenting her, some with a pat on the shoulder, some with a hug, others with a kiss on the cheek and some others with a handshake. Draco still hasn’t said a word. He just looks at her, happy and smiling as she exchanges jokes with the people around her – old friends and new alike – and a flush of red fills her cheeks. He stares at her hand running to tuck her hair behind her ear, at the other one moving her fringe out of the way; he stares at her lips stretching out in a huge smile, then in a soft, almost sheepish one; he stares at her nose wrinkling when said smile turns into a loud laugh. He stares at her eyes, focusing on whoever she’s talking to and then wandering around and…</p><p>When their eyes lock, the world tilts on its axes. It’s the same feeling Draco had felt when he finished his piece in the square earlier in the day and got struck by Hermione’s smile, except <em> more</em>. So much more. The aching in his chest intensifies and suddenly everyone around them disappears, fading away into an indistinct mass of strangers.</p><p>Draco swallows down saliva that feels like lead, his Adam’s apple painfully bobbing in his throat, and he quickly covers the distance between them with only one goal in mind. His hand goes to her wrist – he can almost close his entire fist around it – as a distracted but polite “Can I steal her away for a moment?” comes out of his lips to excuse them from the unknown girl Hermione is talking to.</p><p>He doesn’t see Ginny’s smirk nor the twins passing a five euro bill one to the other; he doesn’t hear his best friends saying “Finally” and “Took him long enough” earning a puzzled look from Harry and Neville. Draco just walks, guiding Hermione back to the terrace. His ears catch the last notes of her laughters before she starts complaining halfheartedly about him pulling her away from her moment of glory, but he doesn’t turn to look at her, lest the need for privacy would just go fuck itself. With the corner of his eyes, he sees her biting her lips and casually adjusting her fringe. As if he cares about the fringe, right now. He’s a man on a mission.</p><p>When they’re finally outside with the glass doors closed behind them, he lets her go. Hermione walks to the parapet, then she turns around to look at him with a little pout and crosses her arms on her chest. </p><p>God, she’s so small. And just… so fucking beautiful.  </p><p>“What, you’re not even going to compliment me, now? I was right, then, you really are a very specific kind of tw…” but her sentence gets interrupted midway when Draco surges forward to press his lips against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist, making her back arch when he draws her as close to him as possible.</p><p>His eyes flicker shut at the electrifying touch. He tastes the softness of her full lips, taking his time in caressing the shape of her mouth with his own and savouring the way their breaths mix with each other. Draco can feel the vibrations of Hermione laughing against him, and when her smile turns into a low moan it almost makes him come undone. She moves her hands to his hips and locks them behind his back as she lets her weight rest in his arms.</p><p>Draco holds her, he <em> feels </em> her, and the distress in his chest melts away with every new stroke of her tongue. The tension in his shoulders thaws as his longing body finally intertwines with hers, the tautness of his back muscles softens as she splays her hands over them; she languidly strokes up and down, then fists his cotton shirt, shaking his senses awake. Their noses brush together as he makes way for his hand through her hair and cups her neck, his fingers tangling in her curls and relishing the warmth of her skin against his palm.</p><p>Hermione catches his lower lip between her teeth, making Draco hiss and tighten his grip on her: she pulls gently, soothing the bite with a final sweet peck. Slowly, she leans back just enough to open her eyes and peer at him, eyelids still closed, white-blond lashes shadowing his sharp cheekbones. When he finally looks at her, his grey eyes are a wild storm and the hunger in them makes her smirk. She can’t help but kiss him once more.</p><p>Draco savours every swipe of her tongue, every graze of her skin, every curl wrapped around his fingers, as he sucks in every last drop of Hermione’s honey-sweet kiss and breathes in her intoxicating scent. When she pulls back slightly, still enveloped by his arms as her sneaky hands slip in his back pockets, he presses his forehead to hers, a small sigh of contentment escaping his lips. </p><p>They both keep their gaze downward for some time. They look at their chests, breathing heavily and touching; then at their limbs, holding onto each other in a tight grip, before locking their eyes together.</p><p>“About bloody time,” Hermione whispers.</p><p>Draco hums in agreement and nuzzles her nose, before crushing his mouth against hers for the third time. Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. When Hermione brings her arms around his shoulders and grips his hair tightly, he groans and walks them back until his knees hit the old, large armchair in a hidden corner of the terrace. He swiftly falls down on it, bringing her with him with a yelp in the silent night.</p><p>Hermione adjusts herself so that she’s sitting in his lap with her thighs on either side of him. His hands are gentle, not straying from their position on her waist, but Draco’s grin is positively devilish.</p><p>“Bold move, Mister Malfoy,” she murmurs against his mouth, her hands lightly stroking his shoulders. “See? You <em> were </em> flirting, after all.”</p><p>“Hm. Don’t really feel like debating it, right now. What do you say, Granger?”</p><p>Hermione scoffs lightly but, much to Draco’s immense joy, she decides to let it go and dives back onto his lips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just stealing a quick moment to thank you all for the love you showed us! We’re really happy you liked the first chapter and we’d love to hear your thoughts on this one as well :)<br/>You can find the pieces Ron and Draco play in this chapter in the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HGyKt9sCCNTn7KAP5xibw?si=t67yYdpeRZauqsaANw9ZZg">fic playlist</a> on Spotify (the Beethoven’s one, the one Draco plays, is truly spectacular).<br/>Our twitters are always <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a> and we’ll see you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. φιλοξενία</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Filoxenìa</b></i> literally means “love of/for the foreigner”, and is most often roughly translated as “hospitality”. But the significance of hospitality in Greece is beyond translation: the importance of hospitality toward a guest in one’s home is a pervasive part of Greek culture. It was considered to be one of the most virtuous qualities in ancient Greek culture and the term dates back to ancient Greece, where guests of the Spartan king abused the philoxenia shown to them by abducting the king’s wife, triggering the Trojan War.</p>
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<hr/><p>“<em>What? </em>What do you mean ‘by foot’? It’s a 40 minutes walk!” Draco hisses before running after his friend, who’s walking away from the elevator in a casual stroll.</p><p>“And you’re an energetic young man who’s not afraid of the dark,” Theo shouts back, searching his pockets for the scooter keys.</p><p>“I don’t even know the road back!”</p><p>“There are these objects called ‘mobile phones’ that have some special things called ‘apps’ that can help you do whatever you want, they even give you directions to get from one place to another. Never heard of them, Malfoy?” Theo rolls his eyes as he unlocks the parked blue Vespa and takes the helmets from under the saddle.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Theo!” The dark-haired man looks at him, both eyebrows raised in surprise: Draco never calls him by his first name. “You’re the one who forced me to come here in the first place!”</p><p>“Oh, and that turned out <em> so </em> badly for you, didn’t it?” Seriously, if there’s someone who should be complaining it’s him, not the little shit who got the girl.</p><p>“Say something,” Draco grunts, and – in a last attempt at getting his way – he looks at Blaise, who’s enjoying their quarreling with an amused smirk on his face. </p><p>He raises his hands to call himself out of it. “Don’t look at me, mate. I’m going with Luna.”</p><p>“Speaking of her,” Theo says while trying to adjust the helmet’s measurements under the faint light of a streetlamp. “What the hell? How? Since when? Why didn’t you tell us?”</p><p>“Because, quite frankly, it’s none of your business,” Blaise replies with a shrug.</p><p>“Oh, but it was okay for <em> you </em> to parade <em> my </em> encounter to this prick as soon as we got home, right?” Draco retorts crossing his arms.</p><p>“Um… yeah?” Blaise simply answers, making Theo snicker under his breath. “Anyway, if you must know,” he adds with a loud sigh, “Luna and I met a few days ago at that event my mother’s friend took me to. Turns out the Bonamore’s aren’t <em> all </em> boring Methuselah.”</p><p>“She looks nice, mate. Odd. But nice.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, congratulations Zabini,” Draco snaps, still angrily eyeing Theo and the helmet in his hands. “But now you’re gonna fuck off with her and take <em> her </em> home on your bicycle instead of your best friend – rude, by the way, I won’t forget it – while I’ll have to <em> walk </em> home in the middle of the night, by myself, in a city that looks like a classical labyrinth! Oh, and on top of that, <em> if </em> I ever get home tonight, I’ll also be stripped of the chance to go to the toilet with the door open!”</p><p>“That is disgusting and if you ever try to do it when I’m present, I’ll have to take severe action against you.”</p><p>Blaise is unfazed by Draco’s dramatics, having known him to be like that since their nursery days. He simply unlocks the padlock of his bike and waits for Luna to exit the building, which she does just a short moment later, along with some of her friends, including a black-haired young lady Theo smiles brightly at from his scooter seat.</p><p>When the party guests had started going home, only a handful of people remained in the apartment. Ginny had started collecting abandoned glasses and plates, and Theo had promptly followed Harry when he offered to help. Their small group took some time to clean the afterparty mess and that’s when Theo found himself talking to another one of the ladies. She was tall and slim, had straight hair, shiny and as dark as obsidian, and a cheeky grin permanently on her face. Just what he needed to clear his mind after the long night (and some unfamiliar feelings related to a certain redhead). The girl agreed instantly when he had shamelessly asked her if she wanted to come home with him.</p><p>So, yeah. Draco could walk.</p><p>“Do you even remember her name?” the blond sibilates between his teeth before the new group joins them.</p><p>“Piss off. And Cho, right from the streets of Glasgow. You happy, <em> min</em>?” Theo hisses back forcing a heavy Scottish accent, before waving his hand in the air to catch Cho’s attention.</p><p>Draco takes a few steps back from the scooter and makes way for the girl with what he hopes is a genuine smile, but his face turns back to a cross expression as soon as her eyes leave him. Theo honks to say goodbye, looking at him in the rearview mirror, and Draco not-so-politely raises the finger. </p><p>He looks at the scooter ride away in the hot night for a long, miserable moment, then turns around when Luna calls him to wave him goodnight from where she’s perched on the top tube of Blaise’s bicycle. They ride off into the night, too. </p><p>“You lost your carriage, Cinderella?”</p><p>Upon hearing the feminine voice, Draco scoffs, then cocks his head to the side to look at Hermione walking her bike out of the building’s main door. She has wrapped her shoulders in a jeans jacket and has braided her hair, probably to keep it out of the way while riding. Her handbag is in the basket, her notebook peeking from it.</p><p>“It is past midnight, after all,” he concedes as she comes closer. The lipstick is completely gone by now, but her lips are tinted with a nice shade of pretty pink. His mouth curls upwards. “You happen to know the road to Trinità dei Monti?”</p><p>Hermione yelps, startling him. “Your place is in Trinità dei Monti?!”</p><p>“Erm, yes? A friend of Theo’s father recommended it, since it’s close to the Conservatory.”</p><p>“Oh my God, that is <em> so close </em> to my favourite place in the city!” Hermione exclaims, clearly ignoring the point at hand. “And the staircase, piazza di Spagna… do you have any idea how many films have at least one scene set there? You know that incredibly famous one in <em> Vacanze Romane </em>where Audrey Hepburn eats her ice cream and… what?” she huffs, smacking him lightly on the arm when she notices Draco is trying not to laugh at her.</p><p>“Hey! You should keep your hands to yourself,” he laughs, trying to catch her wrist.</p><p>“Should I?” she retorts in a low tone, cocking an eyebrow at him in clear challenge, as she makes a show to grip the handlebar.</p><p>Draco almost lets the urge to grab her again and make her voice roll back in his mouth take the best of him, but then she giggles and checks the time on her wristwatch, and he blinks away the need coursing through his body.</p><p>Hermione is intent on making him suffer, though.</p><p>“My place is actually not far from here. It’s this two-bedroom flat someone in Ginny’s family owns but they’re never here during the summer, so Harry, Neville and I always stay there. Well, most of the time it’s just me, really, because Harry spends his nights here with Ginny,” she nods at the building behind them, “and, more often than not, Neville ends up falling asleep on the couch while talking with Harry and Ron so he doesn’t come home either. And tonight is one of those nights where it’s just me,” she concludes with a shrug, looking up at Draco with innocent and yet unmistakably hopeful eyes. “Wanna come?”</p><p>He stares at her, unblinking, stunned into silence. Not because he doesn’t want to– God, yes, please, he <em> wants </em> to, he really does. It’s the ease with which she asked, the way she just came up with the arrangement, so nonchalantly: it left him completely speechless.</p><p>Everything about Hermione always leaves him speechless.</p><p>“That’s a woman's bicycle, we can’t ride double,” he stutters, internally grimacing when he realizes the absolute idiocy he has just come up with. Or maybe not so internally, given the amused look in Hermione’s eyes.</p><p>“Well,” she smirks, turning around a bit and patting the carrier over the back wheel, “this looks like a second seat to me, with a bit of imagination. But if you don’t want to…”</p><p>“No, that’s not what I meant,” he clarifies immediately, putting his hands over hers on the handles. </p><p>She looks down at her fingers covered by his, the perpetual smirk still pulling her cheekbones up. Draco’s thumb gently strokes her knuckles.</p><p>“Fine, then,” Hermione says with a resolute and satisfied look. “Can you carry me?”</p><p>“I thought <em> you </em> just offered to take <em> me </em> home?”</p><p>“Yes, but unless you want to ungraciously fall on the street and scrape your knees, you don’t want me to drive with someone on the back. I have a bad track record,” she adds, patting the saddle and pulling out the kickstand. “Can you do it?”</p><p>He scoffs and claps his hands together with determination. “Watch and learn.”</p><p>Hermione rolls her eyes but gingerly lets him climb the bike as she seats sidesaddle on the back carrier, tugging her dress under her thighs. Her arms wrap firmly around his torso, fingers twisting together on his stomach.</p><p>“Straight down this road. I’ll tell you when you have to make a turn. And don’t make me fall.”</p><p>Draco grabs her hand and places a small kiss on it. “Don’t plan on it.”</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione switches the light on with the keys still jingling in the lock. The flat is definitely not as big as Ginny’s, but bigger than what Draco imagined: so big, in fact, that there’s room for an upright pianoforte in the living room that immediately catches his eye.</p><p>He follows Hermione in as she goes around the room to pick up a couple of pillows left to lay around and throws them on the couch. He looks around at the paintings hanging on the walls, possibly all by some contemporary modern artist he doesn’t know, given the abstractness of the subjects. The only recognizable piece is a jigsaw reproduction of <em> The School of Athens </em>by Raffaello.</p><p>“Who had so much free time?” Draco asks, pointing at the framed puzzle next to a tall library overflowing with books.</p><p>“Fred and George. <em> Ages </em> ago. Ginny says that they stayed up day and night for three days straight to finish it.” Hermione takes off her sandals and goes to the open-plan kitchen to inspect the fridge. “What do you eat in the morning?”</p><p>He follows her and sits at the kitchen’s peninsula-style table, leaning on it with his elbows. “Coffee is fine.” </p><p>“Good. ‘Cause I was planning on going to the supermarket today but then I didn’t,” she says, closing the door on the half-empty fridge. “I always have coffee, though. And there’s an incredible café just a couple of blocks from here that makes fresh cornetti and other delicious pastries every morning so there’s always that possibility, if you’re hungry. And also–”</p><p>“Granger, I won’t die if I don’t have a continental breakfast in the morning,” Draco interrupts her with a smirk, effectively stopping her from listing every café in the city.</p><p>“You ungrateful tosser,” and she slams closed the cabinet door she opened to check if she actually still had some coffee left. “Here I am, just caring about your well-being, and this is the thanks I get.”</p><p>A single curl bounces against her cheek when Hermione huffs, hands on her waist, and Draco bites his lower lip to stop himself from saying something he’ll regret. Instead, he pushes on the table to lean forward and takes a hold of her on the other side, planting a loud kiss on her mouth. She yelps at the sudden pull, but can’t help the smile when his lips capture hers.</p><p>“Thank you, Granger.”</p><p>She pulls back and blows a raspberry at him, before clapping her hands against the shiny tabletop. “Right. Let’s find you a change of clothes.”</p><p>“I don’t really think yours will fit me,” he says as she disappears down the hallway towards what must be her bedroom, then chuckles because he knows she’s rolling her eyes at him.</p><p>“You can always sleep with the shirt on, for all I care,” she yells from the room. “Or naked. Whatever suits you!”</p><p>“It’s pretty hot tonight, maybe I’ll take you up on the naked thing,” he tells her in a serious voice as she emerges from the hallway holding a dark grey t-shirt and a pair of boxers.</p><p>Draco blinks several times at the sight of the underwear and bites his lip, again, withholding a terrible joke that he knows would earn him a slap.</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” she warns him when she sees the look on his face.</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” he holds his hands up in surrender. </p><p>Hermione glares at him but there’s a hint of a smile on her face (a remote part of his brain is keeping count of all the times she smiles at him). She pins the clothes to his chest and he takes them by covering her hand with his, his fingers immediately start stroking her knuckles without a second thought to it. Touching her is becoming a reflex.</p><p>“Boxers are Ron’s, I think they’ll fit. The t-shirt is straight out of the boys’ merch stack: consider it a gift. And the bathroom is right through there,” she says, turning around and pointing at the first door down the hallway.</p><p>“I’m not gonna wear your ex-boyfriend’s boxers,” he tells her, voice composed and gaze fixed on her, while his hand keeps stroking hers gently. </p><p>(Touching her is becoming a need.)</p><p>Hermione gives him a sigh that sounds too much like a laugh. “They’re clean, I swear.”</p><p>“I’m not wearing them.”</p><p>“Harry’s or Neville’s won’t fit you.”</p><p>“And what do you know?”</p><p>She cocks her head to the side and stares at him, for once at the same eye level now that he’s seated and she’s standing. “I know.”</p><p>It takes a great deal of effort for Draco to keep his face straight and his body under control.</p><p>“Alright, then,” he nods, “but I’m still not gonna wear them. I showered before going out earlier so mine are still clean, they can survive one night.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” Hermione says wriggling her hand out of his grip and heading back to the bedroom, leaving him with both the t-shirt and boxers. </p><p>Draco puts the underwear on the chair next to him and unfolds the t-shirt to reveal the drawing of a roaring lion proudly standing in front of a scarlet-and-gold sprayed writing on the background.</p><p>He reads the word in front of him. “<em>Riddikulus</em>? Is this supposed to be…?” </p><p>“The band’s name,” Hermione replies, coming out of her bedroom, pyjamas in her hands. She has her hair tied up and Draco’s keen eyes don’t hesitate to savour the sight of the gentle curve of her neck.</p><p>“Yeah. We all told them. They say it’s them re-appropriating the first harsh criticism they ever received and that it also sets expectations low so they can only excel from there… or something like that,” she concludes loudly entering the bathroom.</p><p>Draco looks back at the t-shirt, sneering at the idiotic name. But, maybe, they kind of have a point, he reluctantly admits to himself: if you call yourself ridiculous, why should somebody else say that to you? And even if they did, you wouldn’t feel bad about it anyway.</p><p>He stands up when he hears the sound of the water coming from the shower and walks to the piano to distract himself. His hand brushes the keys, tapping on a couple of them, before sitting on the stool and taking a look at the musical scores scattered all over the nearby coffee table. He recognises most of them, but some original pieces catch his attention: Draco studies the melody of an unnamed one, clearly still a work in progress, given how the notes stop abruptly halfway through the second to last pentagram on the third sheet and the question marks distributed here and there on the pages. Slowly, he passes his fingers on the piano to check out how the music flows.</p><p>He ponders something for a moment, a sheet in one hand and another resting on the keyboard. Then, he grabs a few post-its and a pencil from the coffee table and scribbles down some notes, before sticking them to different places throughout the score. Just some suggestions. Whoever wrote the music can always toss them away.</p><p>“The floor is yours,” Hermione’s voice startles him as she comes out of the bathroom and joins him in the living room. “Because of course you’re playing the piano,” she snorts when she sees where he’s sitting.</p><p>He scoffs. “I was just having a look,” he says as he stands to retrieve the clean clothes Hermione fetched him and goes to the bathroom to get changed.</p><p>(Boxers included, despite his irritated frown when he holds them high in front of his face. He forces his brain not to convey any painful images.)</p><p>When he’s done, Hermione is in the kitchen checking her phone and sipping on a glass of water. One of the spaghetti straps of her pyjamas top has fallen over her shoulder, a couple of locks have escaped from the scrunchie and gently bounce on her chest with its light movements. Draco’s fingers tingle at the sight.</p><p>He’s starting to fear that it’s too much, the way his body responds to hers.</p><p>Hemione looks up when she hears his footsteps and tries to bite back a smile when she sees him in his new ensemble. </p><p>“You look lovely.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>She giggles and locks her phone, turning around to put the glass in the sink.</p><p>“So, where am I sleeping? Do you usually all sleep in one bed?” Seeing as the door of the room in front of the bathroom was open, Draco had peeked into it, thinking it was the boys’ room and consequently where he would sleep, but it was actually converted into an office, no bed or couch in sight. </p><p>“Oh, no, the boys sleep here on the opened sofa bed,” she says. He nods and takes a few steps towards the red couch to get it ready. “But I changed the sheets of my bed just this morning and I have yet to do the laundry, so I don’t have a clean spare set right now, so... You have to sleep with me.”</p><p>His eyes snap out of his head and he chokes and sputters in a completely undignified way. </p><p>“Pardon me?” It comes out in a squeaky high note and Draco hates his body’s lack of self control.</p><p>“Don’t be such a prude,” Hermione snorts, circling the kitchen table to head towards her bedroom. “Bed is big, sheets are clean, you’re a big boy, I’m knackered, and I think we can manage,” she says matter-of-factly as she pauses in front of him, bare feet making the parquet crack.</p><p>She pats him on the cheek and Draco keeps looking at her with his jaw slack, much like the lion on his t-shirt, watching her walk down the hallway.</p><p>The bright lights of the living room are switched off and he is left stunned in the darkness for several minutes. He glances at his reflection on the balcony window in front of him: the name <em> Riddikulus </em> is really fitting, right now.</p><p>He shakes his head and takes a deep breath to regain control over his mind, then he follows Hermione in the bedroom.</p><p>“I can sleep on the couch, it’s fine. There’s no need to open it, just give me a pillow…” he says, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the floor. </p><p>His self control is already weak as it is, if he sees her in bed... </p><p>“Don’t be absurd, Draco, why would you want to break your back and get all cranky when you have a perfectly functioning mattress right here?” </p><p>Hermione is in front of the vanity wrapping a satin scarf around her mane, then walks to the bed, moves back the sheets and gets in.</p><p>He’s still not looking.</p><p>“I mean, the couch is big and it looks comfortable enough…” he tries without much conviction. </p><p>A voice in his head is screaming at him, loudly asking why on Earth he’s being so stubbornly counterproductive tonight, but, well, had he known he wouldn’t just stand there gaping like a pike, now, would he?</p><p>“I’m not gonna eat you in your sleep, Malfoy,” she retorts adjusting the pillow under her.</p><p>
  <em> Not the time for sex jokes, you fucking moron. </em>
</p><p>“I… I just… I don’t…”</p><p>Hermione’s head falls back with a loud groan. “God help me,” she mutters, then sits up to stretch across the bed, catch his leg and pull him down to sit on it. </p><p>“It’s <em> fine</em>. See?” She makes a show of moving back to the opposite side of the bed and gesturing to the empty space between their bodies. “We won’t even touch. It’s gonna be okay, you’ll survive,” and she lies back down with a huff, grabbing her mobile phone from the bedside table.</p><p>Draco is still unable to make his body move. That’s likely because, if he even just dared to look in Hermione’s direction right now, they’d probably end up not sleeping. Hopefully. But she said she’s tired, and has given no indication that she wants to do something other than <em> sleeping</em>. So. He just needs to pull himself together. Which might take him more than a minute or two.</p><p>Hermione mumbles something about it being late and emails, then she taps a couple of times on the screen with a loud sigh and puts the mobile phone back where it was.</p><p>She turns to look at him.</p><p>His eyes shift into hers for a fraction of second but it’s enough. <em> Is it </em> late? He has quite honestly never felt more awake. He loudly clears his throat.</p><p>“Right. Um, as you wish, then. But only because you insisted,” he tells her, but he’s pretty certain she detects the fake smugness in his tone. He’s making a terrible job of pretending he’s not freaking out inside, he’s painfully aware of that. </p><p>He puts his folded clothes on the unoccupied bedside table and takes his phone out of his trousers’ pocket. Seeings Theo’s text (<em>a fucking smirking emoji</em>), Draco realizes that he didn’t tell the boys he wouldn’t be coming home tonight. Whatever, he doesn’t have enough energy to dedicate to the thought of them right now, so he leaves it at that.</p><p>Hermione turns off the table lamp and he feels her small hand lightly run across his back. “Goodnight, Draco.”</p><p>His eyes flicker shut when her fingers brush his spine. “‘Night, Granger.”</p><p>A moment later, he turns off the light, too, and his head finally hits the pillow. Eyes wide open fixed on the ceiling, he feels the mattress move under him and he knows she has turned on the side, her back to him. It takes every last ounce of strength in him to turn the opposite way.</p><p>They’re just sharing a bed. This is fine.</p><p>But she’s close. So close. She’s <em> impossibly </em> close.</p><p>They’re both going to be unconscious pretty soon.</p><p>Draco closes his eyes. Sleep will come. He’s been up since pretty early in the morning. It’s been a long day. He ate. He drank. Bed’s comfortable. <em> Sleep will come</em>.</p><p>God only knows what could happen when they <em> do </em> get to the unconscious part of sleeping.</p><p>He can hear the rhythm of Hermione’s quiet breathing in the silence of the room.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale.</p><p><em> Nothing</em>. Nothing will happen.</p><p>He squeezes his eyes harder, little fireworks of lights springing against the black of his closed eyelids. His head presses on the pillow so harshly that he can feel his own heartbeat echo in his ear, like the sound of someone outside walking up a staircase. Where to, that’s uncertain. Probably to madness.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale.</p><p>He sighs loudly and finds himself turning around to face Hermione’s back.</p><p>Her body sinks into the mattress and her side profile is covered by the light bed sheet. Her shoulders raise and fall following the easy tempo of her sleep. The room is dark but his eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light and her figure gets clearer the longer he stares at her. Draco tucks his hands under his pillow, his gaze fixed on Hermione.</p><p>His eyes grow heavier at every passing second, until he can’t keep them open anymore and he finally falls asleep, his breathing now easily matching the one of the woman in front of him.</p><p>-</p><p>There’s something furry on his face when he wakes up. Like an annoying cat that decided to sit right on his mouth and nose, thus blocking his every chance of breathing. He goes to push it away but realises that he can’t feel one of his hands, and when he moves the other, the clothed surface he’s touching doesn’t belong to his body.</p><p>Draco freezes. Then, his eyes blink open and when he blearily looks in front of him at the curtains covering the opened window, he realizes they’re not green. In a flash, he remembers where he is.</p><p>And what, or well, <em> who </em> is laying in his arms. Draped all over him, more precisely.</p><p>A delicate breeze coming in the room through the half-shut blinds joins the sudden fall of his heart into his stomach in sending a shiver down his spine.</p><p>Hermione’s arm is wrapped around his waist and her face is burrowed into his chest. Some of her curls have gotten loose from the scarf after the third or fourth time she turned around in her sleep, and now her locks are messily spread across Draco’s face and chest. His right arm is blocked under her neck and his left one is holding her, hand splayed on the curve of her back.</p><p>She’s still sleeping and he can hear the muffled drum of her heartbeat vibrate against his body.</p><p>His free hand slowly inches up to get her hair off his face, and he tries to tuck the insubordinate curls behind her ears to keep them out of the way; his attempt sadly fails, her hair falling again like they belong all over the place.</p><p>She inhales loudly and wriggles in his arms to turn around: now belly-up, her hand falling just inches away from his body. Draco gives her a look, his right arm still used as a pillow under her head, even more so now. He can’t be mad, though: her face is turned toward him, nuzzling his chest. He slowly brings his left arm to drape it across her belly: his palm rests on the light cotton fabric of her pyjamas, with just his fingertips brushing the softness of her skin.</p><p>He lets her be for a moment, then he opens and closes his right hand in a fist to shake it awake, just enough so he can gently take it back and envelop Hermione’s body as best as he can without moving too much. His fingers lay lazily on her shoulder, close enough to her chest that they rise and fall with the movement of her lungs.</p><p>Draco can't exactly explain why, but to him she looks like the epitome of goodness and innocence: her petite, shapely body, soft and warm in his arms; her mouth slightly opened to let the air come in and out, the tender curve of her nose pointing upward, her rosy cheek barely visible in the faint light filtering through the blinds.</p><p>It’s almost dawn. He feels the chirping of the birds from outside echoes in his ribcage. It’s light and harmonious and makes him feel as though he can always look forward to a brand new morning, as long as he wakes with Hermione in his arms.</p><p>His lips curl in a rare tender smile as he moves his hand across her belly to spread it along the curve of her covered hip, his thumb tracing the line of her waist. Fitting: it’s like holding a precious Stradivari.</p><p>Leaning down, he presses his lips against her forehead, right where her unblemished brown skin meets her chaotic hair. He closes his eyes and inhales the scent of her shampoo: a distinct note of chamomile fills his nostrils.</p><p>Draco gently tightens his grip on Hermione and quickly, almost unwillingly, goes back into Morpheus’ arms.</p><p>-</p><p>“Wake up.” </p><p>It’s a whisper, very close to his ear.</p><p>His shoulder is squeezed and he grunts, turning his head the other way.</p><p>“Draco.” Firmer. “Come on, wake up.” Softer.</p><p>The melodious voice drags him out of his sound sleep and Draco slowly becomes aware of his body, chest pressed against the mattress. He can feel the morning light in the room even with his eyelids still closed, but he doesn’t really want to meet it yet. He squeezes his eyes and grunts again, slipping his head under the pillow. He’s still pretty much unconscious and wants to keep it that way.</p><p>There’s a chuckle and the hand moves over his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down. The gentle movement is about to lull him to sleep, when suddenly the pillow is taken away from his face and Draco gives whoever it is that’s disrupting his quiet morning a long and disgruntled moan. After a moment, he reluctantly opens his eyes to see an empty bed, sheets spread open and a pillow next to him crumpled after a night of sleep.</p><p>“Wake up, Draco.”</p><p>He turns around towards the voice, dragging his nose on the mattress below him.</p><p>Hermione stares at him, the tip of her nose a few inches away from his.</p><p>“Fuck me,” he rasps out, voice laced with sleep. He covers his face with both hands, then vigorously rubs the sleep from his eyes lest it’s all just a dream. </p><p>It’s not. </p><p>Hermione pats on his back as she stands from her crouching position with a laugh. “You wish.”</p><p><em> Fuck me, I do</em>. This is no way to wake up, Draco thinks miserably as he sits up.</p><p>“It’s late, get dressed. Coffee’s almost ready,” she says, going to the windows to open the shutters. </p><p>She has already changed out of her pyjamas and has abandoned yesterday’s outfit: her legs are wrapped in a pair of long, large and soft-looking, tangerine coloured trousers, a white top is tucked into them and her voluminous curls fall gracefully around her. The waist-high cut highlights her figure, backlit in the bright morning, making Draco’s eyes linger on every curve: from the many small ones in her hair, to the slope of her shoulders and spine, to her trim waist, to her rounded hips, to her thighs, to… </p><p>It might be the backwash of a dream he doesn’t remember and that’s fogging up his brain talking, but the only thing he wants now is to find out how tracing those curves would feel under his lips. </p><p>All of them.</p><p>Every hill on her body, he wants to explore with his mouth.</p><p>As soon as the forbidden desire forms in his mind, the sudden sunlight blinds him enough to shake him out his thoughts. <em> Fuck. </em> He’s been awake for less than ten minutes and his head is already deep in the gutter.</p><p>He slaps himself on his cheek.</p><p>Hermione turns with a frown. “You okay, Malfoy?”</p><p>“Huh? Yeah. Never been better,” he says, about to swing his legs over the mattress to get up when– </p><p>Well.</p><p>Her top is very light. It’s almost sheer fabric. The light cuts easily through it, as she walks towards him. He’s still half-asleep. His blood is dangerously running to <em> places</em>.</p><p>Hermione’s frown turns into a cheeky smirk when she notices his knuckles go white gripping the bed sheet and his body shift under her scrutiny.</p><p>He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “What time is it?”</p><p>“Half past eight,” she replies, circling the bed to reach the door.</p><p>She keeps looking at him like she’s particularly enjoying his suffering and he’s annoyed at her.</p><p>“You said it was <em> late</em>!” </p><p>His gaze falls on her body again and a new rush of blood drives south. <em> Bloody hell, what am I, fucking 14 again? </em></p><p>“It <em> is </em> late,” says Hermione, unaware of the ongoing cursing in his head but clearly entertained by the way his fingers are clutching on the bed sheet and his eyes keep dancing around the room nervously. “You see how up high the sun is?”</p><p>“The sun is always high in this country.”</p><p>“Get dressed, we’re going out. And be quick about it or the coffee will get cold!” she yells over her shoulder as she heads towards the kitchen.</p><p>It’s like she enjoys ignoring his complaints.</p><p>Draco groans and falls back on the bed but bounces back up right away. Sitting, head in his hands and elbows on his thighs, he takes a moment to calm down. A couple of ungraspable thoughts swirl around his brain and he’s pretty sure one of them is the beginning of a conversation with his own very physical self, but he resolutely determines that he’s old enough by now not to need a fucking pep-talk to keep his own body under control.</p><p>It’s morning.</p><p>It’s only natural.</p><p>A normal and perfectly fine reaction that male bodies have from time to time in the morning, especially when they’re young, especially if they see another attractive body so close to them.</p><p>It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s physiology, really.</p><p>His jaw flexes and he moves the bed sheets out of the way to run to the bathroom. He comes out a handful of minutes later, dressed and glaring at his left arm. </p><p>“What kind of ink does your pen have? Will this thing ever come off?” he asks showing Hermione the residues of her scribble on his skin, before buttoning down his sleeve.</p><p>“Can’t reveal my witchy secrets,” she winks at him, pouring black coffee into a small cup from a red moka pot. “Sugar?”</p><p>“Nope. Thanks,” he says sitting at the table.</p><p>She grimaces, pouring a teaspoon of sugar in her cup while Draco grabs his.</p><p>“Italians say that you have to take it sugar-free. Bitter, like life,” he comments before shooting the hot liquid down his throat.</p><p>“<em>Some </em> Italians say it,” Hermione retorts. “In Luna’s wise words, life is bitter enough all by itself,” she declares, blowing on her coffee.</p><p>She sips in silence for a minute while he mindlessly twirls his residue in his cup.</p><p>“Do you want to swing home to change?” she points at his shirt with her chin. </p><p>Uh. If for no other reason, it would be a very polished walk of shame.</p><p>“Not a bad idea.” He grabs his mobile phone to call Theo and Blaise to check and see if they’re home and awake, very much doubting the latter. It would serve them right if he wakes them so early, after the stunt they pulled on him last night. “How far…?”</p><p>“Oh, not immediately. Remember about the café I mentioned last night?”</p><p>Hermione quickly puts the cups in the sink, then goes to grab her bag and the house keys.</p><p>“But I’m fine with just coffee,” Draco tells her looking at her moving around.</p><p>“‘Kay, and?” she shoots him an unimpressed look. “You won’t take my morning maritozzo away from me.”</p><p>“Your morning <em> what</em>?”</p><p>“You don’t–” she starts, apparently exasperated at him for something only she knows. </p><p>This girl is making his head spin, in more ways than one. </p><p>He holds her gaze with a half amused half perplexed expression, then shakes his head and shrugs as to say that he has no idea what she’s talking about. </p><p>“Oh my <em> God</em>, move, let’s go!” Hermione exclaims, her eyes popping out of her head and clapping her hands towards the door. “You can’t live another second without knowing what a maritozzo con panna is.”</p><p>-</p><p>A young tanned bartender lights up in a bright smile when Hermione pulls the door open.</p><p>“Buongiorno, carissima! Come andiamo oggi?” he says joyfully over the jingle of the door.</p><p>Draco’s eyes dart from him to Hermione. Why is he speaking Italian, why is he talking to her like they know each other, why is <em> she </em> smiling and batting her eyelashes at him, why is he calling her <em> dearest</em>?</p><p>“Tutto bene, grazie Gianni. Tu?”</p><p>Why is she <em> answering </em> in fucking <em> Italian</em>?</p><p>Beautiful language, don’t get him wrong. Especially coming from her lips. But not when Hermione flirts with Italian men in <em> Italian</em>.</p><p>“Benissimo, ora che ho visto te. Sei raggiante come sempre,” the bartender goes on, apparently ignoring Draco’s presence and gesturing to the free stools right in front of the café to invite her to sit.</p><p>“E tu sei sempre troppo gentile,” she smiles back.</p><p>Thanks to the boarding school he attended, Draco’s Italian skills are developed enough to understand Hermione’s words but, truth be told, he doesn’t need a translation to crack the look in the bloke’s eyes. His teeth grind inside his mouth and he has to stop himself from putting his arm around her waist. Because, really, he has no right to do that.</p><p>Still.</p><p>“This is Draco,” she finally remembers him, switching back to English and gesturing to him.</p><p>The bartender rubs his hand on a cloth thrown over his shoulder and offers it to Draco. The blond grabs it with a polite hint of a smile and a vigorous grip. The man’s polo is short-sleeved and his bicep flexes with the shake. The handshake lasts a second more than it should, and he thinks they’re both aware of it, before their eyes run back to Hermione.</p><p>It’s so quick that Draco notices her gaze moving away from the stretched fabric of <em> Gianni </em>’s top (what kind of name Gianni even is?) and a slight blush on her cheeks at being caught. There’s an ugly feeling surging in his gut but he forces it back to where it came from.</p><p>“He doesn’t know what a maritozzo is.”</p><p>“I’m her maritozzo,” Gianni says immediately, hands on his chest and looking at Hermione, his accent rolling the words out of his mouth, the Italian word pronounced with a heavy emphasis, underlining every letter. It gets straight up Draco’s nose.</p><p>Hermione giggles and lightly pushes him on his arm. </p><p>Draco clenches his jaw. <em> Really fucking hilarious</em>.</p><p>“Seriously. Bring him one,” she tells <em> Gianni</em>, all eyes for him and his smug expression.</p><p>It’s a good thing no one else is paying attention to the three of them, otherwise Draco would have been asked a few questions about the look he’s giving the man currently chatting up his– </p><p>Hermione.</p><p>“Va bene, va bene, ai tuoi ordini, principessa,” Gianni relents, raising his hands in defeat and moving to the opposite side of the counter to get their breakfast ready.</p><p>Draco draws a deep breath. Some words are not <em> that </em> different from English ones.</p><p>After he and Hermione sit on a small table right outside the café, Gianni comes back with two huge round pieces of what looks like bread split in half and filled with an enormous amount of whipped cream. Draco’s eyes widen at the imponent presence in the plates, while Hermione whispers a longing “Oh, yes”.</p><p>“It’s just a pastry, Granger,” he teases.</p><p>“You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she says seriously with her gaze fixed on the calorie bomb in front of her.</p><p>Gianni puts the plates and the two coffees down. “This is what we call ‘er sacro maritozzo’. Can you say it?”</p><p>“<em>Er sacro maritozzo</em>,” Hermione repeats, her English accent falling slightly on the r sounds.</p><p>Draco asks what it means, doing his best to ignore the high five Hermione and Gianni exchange and eyeing the impossibly big thing in front of him, wondering how he should tackle it.</p><p>“Literally, ‘maritozzo’ means husband. Story goes that it’s what women used to call their boyfriends who bought them this pastry, because they’d usually hide a ring inside to propose,” Gianni explains, before winking at Hermione. “You might want to be careful with yours.”</p><p>This fucking thing in front of him needs to be the most delicious food he will ever try in his entire life, otherwise Draco might just combust on the spot from that awful feeling simmering dangerously inside him.</p><p>Hermione scoffs but her eyes follow Gianni as he goes back inside. Then, her gaze turns to Draco, who’s clutching his teaspoon and glaring at his plate. She bites back an unflattering remark and decides to pretend that he’s really just mad at the pastry in front of him.</p><p>“Forget the spoon. You have to pick it up,” she says, taking hers in her hands, “and just start biting.” </p><p>Her mouth finds the place where the cut starts and, without further ado, she buries her teeth in the whipped cream, taking a huge bite. She closes her eyes in pleasure when she starts chewing and Draco can’t help but smile at the sight: she looks like a happy kid on Christmas morning.</p><p>“Stop laughing at me,” she tells him with her mouth half-full, which makes it more like an unintelligible sound but he sees the frown and offended expression.</p><p>She’s way too cute, it’s really not fair.</p><p>“Your upper lip is covered in whipped cream.”</p><p>“No shit, have you seen this thing?” she retorts after swallowing, then grabs a napkin while swiftly running her tongue over her mouth. </p><p>A string of breath escapes Draco’s teeth.</p><p>“What are you waiting for?” she mutters, already taking a second bite.</p><p>He refocuses his gaze on the maritozzo in front of him and picks it up. The bread is soft and spongy in his hands, way lighter than he expected. He eyes it for a few more seconds, then attacks it just like Hermione did.</p><p>“Oh my Gw–” he tries to say, but his mouth is full and still biting down on the pastry, making it impossible to form a complete sentence.</p><p>That <em> is </em> the most delicious thing he has ever eaten. The whipped cream fills his mouth gently and refreshingly, the almost nonexistent consistency of it balanced by the full substance of the sweet bread.</p><p>Hermione laughs at his expression of pure ecstasy and passes him the napkins. “And now your lip is dirty, too.”</p><p>Draco swallows down with a moan. “I think I just fell in love.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare, this is <em> my </em> thing. I don’t share,” she replies, taking another bite, quickly imitated by him.</p><p>Okay, so maybe it was worth it. Well, it wasn’t exactly pleasant to watch someone shamelessly flirt with Hermione and her flirting back, but at least there’s a silver lining to it all and it’s making his stomach incredibly happy and satisfied.</p><p>“Right, now you wash it down with coffee,” Hermione says when she gets halfway through her maritozzo, putting it down to pour some sugar in her cup. </p><p>Her tongue darts over her upper lip again, not unnoticed by Draco’s eyes. She really should stop doing that.</p><p>“Aren’t we going to have a heart attack with all these coffees?”</p><p>“It’s just two. Besides, you kind of get used to it when you stay too long in this country. It runs in their veins,” she tells him before taking another mouthful of her wonderful treat and sipping from her cup.</p><p>Draco does the same and has to hold another moan back. “This thing is better than sex.”</p><p>Hermione almost chokes. “Fuck you, don’t make me laugh when I’m eating!”</p><p>“I’m serious. This is… absolutely terrific. Nothing compares,” he says, eagerly taking another huge bite.</p><p>“Makes me wonder what kind of sex you’re used to,” she says innocently, hiding her smirk behind her cup of coffee.</p><p>“Does it, now?” he counters in a low voice, a quick flash of lust in his eyes.</p><p>Hermione slowly puts down her cup and looks at him from under her lashes. She licks away some more cream resting on her upper lip, perfectly aware of his eyes following the movement of her tongue. Then, she shrugs and takes her final bite.</p><p>She’s a little minx. </p><p>Draco wets his suddenly dry mouth with a last sip of coffee and scrubs his hands together to clean them from the breadcrumbs, before wiping his fingers with a napkin.</p><p>Gianni comes out again to take their plates and leave them both a glass of water, but the words he exchanges with Hermione don’t really stick to Draco’s brain this time.</p><p>-</p><p>The road to the boys’ place is roughly a half-hour walk from Hermione’s house. They have decided to go by foot to enjoy the city in the early morning. Well, early for Draco. He, Blaise and Theo are used to sleeping in till late when they’re on holiday but he has to admit, it’s not too bad to be up early and enjoy Rome when it’s yet to be crowded with hordes of tourists. He’s not telling Hermione that, though.</p><p>“We’re close to the U.K. embassy, did you know that?”</p><p>“I do, now. Do we need it for something?”</p><p>“I hope not,” she laughs, gesturing to a low and rectangular building in front of them. “There it is. Made by a Scot, I think.”</p><p>“Should that mean something?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I guess not, if you don’t have any prejudices against the Scottish.”</p><p>“Well, the last Scot I met was your friend Cho and she made sure that I lost my ride home, so…”</p><p>“What am I, chopped liver?” Hermione says punching him lightly on the arm and accelerating a bit to distance him.</p><p>Draco chuckles and runs to meet her pace. “Someone’s sensitive.”</p><p>If he were looking, he would have seen Hermione glare at him before pouting, but his eyes are focused on a random spot in front of him and he just wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Only then, he turns to press a quick kiss on the top of her head before letting her go. </p><p>Her fake long face dissipates instantly.</p><p>“That’s Porta Pia, we’re right at the Aurelian walls,” she points at a tall, classical-style gate in front of them. “Which means that, back in 271 A.D., whatever was on that side was already Rome and whatever was on this side wasn’t the city. But, in truth, the walls weren’t created to scare people away, rather to protect the city from the outside barbarians, which was a new thing for the Romans because the town had stayed unfortified for centuries, and the citizens were quite proud of it.”</p><p>“A step back, then.”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but I guess it’s understandable, isn’t it?” she says with a faraway look in her eyes. “You can’t go around unprotected forever.”</p><p>“How do you know all these things?” Draco asks, dodging the sudden intimate turn of the conversation. “I assumed you were a theatre kid but maybe you were one of the history nerds?”</p><p>“Best of both worlds, my dearest boy,” Hermione replies, her arm looping around his and squeezing his bicep. “I’m not done, by the way. On the 20th of September 1870, the Bersaglieri entered Rome from this gate and took the city from the Pope, completing the unification of the country. There’s a monument right there… it was actually the day after my birthday.”</p><p>“You’re 150?! Oh my God, I would have never guessed, you look so young!” he fake-gasps, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest.</p><p>“Ah-ah, you’re so funny,” she rolls her eyes before burying her elbow in his gut.</p><p>He laughs but listens quietly when she goes on with the story, and keeps listening as they walk around and Hermione points at more buildings and statues, telling him about the Government places, churches and fountains, but also cafés and restaurants she has personally tried and she’s willing to vouch for and those where she went with Ginny, or Harry, or the twins, and something funny happened.</p><p>“You sound like someone who lives here,” Draco comments at some point, after the millionth historical and artistic recounting about a statue in a corner of the road.</p><p>“I’m actually planning on becoming someone who lives here,” she says easily.</p><p>His step falters for a second and he quickly glances at her to make sure she hasn’t noticed. He is thrown off by that information, which makes him feel weird. He just met the girl. And besides, it’s not like he was imagining anything. Or <em> planning </em> on doing anything. They’re simply two people spending some time together during the holidays.</p><p>She does have a London accent, though.</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, I was thinking of maybe expanding by possibilities. Like, career-wise. Luna’s family has pretty important connections here and Ginny is willing to let me stay with her, so I might try my luck and move to Rome to see what happens with me and my music.”</p><p>The Bonamore’s. The same ones who hosted the events Zabini has been constantly dragged to by his mother’s friends.</p><p>“‘Maybe’?” he asks, to fill the silence and quiet his thoughts.</p><p>“Most definitely. I’m just waiting on the final green light on Luna’s dad’s end.”</p><p>Draco nods.</p><p>“Oh, I think we’re here!” Hermione exclaims, and when he looks up they’re right in front of his building. </p><p>He grabs the house keys from his back pocket and opens the main heavy door, ushering her inside before following her up the stairs. He tries his best to focus his hearing on the echoing sound of their shoes on the marble steps, but there’s a very loud voice in his brain rising above everything else.</p><p>He’s leaving in roughly one month.</p><p>Back to good old, gloomy London.</p><p>Hermione is staying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bonamore: the literal translation of Lovegood (“love”: amore; “good”: buono). Fun fact: it’s not a very common last name in Italy, but it <i>is</i> common in the Lazio region, which is precisely where Rome is.<br/>
<i>Buongiorno, carissima! Come andiamo oggi?</i>: Good morning, dearest! How are you doing today?<br/>
<i>Tutto bene, grazie Gianni. Tu?</i>: All good, thank you Gianni. How about you?<br/>
<i>Benissimo, ora che ho visto te. Sei raggiante come sempre</i>: Fantastically, now that I saw you. You’re glowing as usual.<br/>
<i>E tu sei sempre troppo gentile</i>: And you’re always too kind.<br/>
<i>Va bene, va bene, ai tuoi ordini, principessa</i>: Alright, alright, as you wish, princess.<br/>
<i>Er sacro maritozzo</i>: The sacred maritozzo (in Rome’s dialect form).<br/>
</p><p> - </p><p>Here we are again! Thank you so much for the love you've been showing us! Comments are always incredibly welcome &lt;3<br/>
Our twitters haven’t changed, if you want to find us: <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a><br/>
See you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. λεβέντης</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Lebéntes</b></i> is a word used when referring to a tall and upright man with a proud stature (but let’s pretend it's used for women as well, shall we?). Someone brave, direct, honest, and generous. Historically, during the Ottoman occupation, <i>lebéntes</i> were called the Greek mercenaries of the sea.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>The past two weeks will have been carved in his memories for ages to come. Hermione had stormed randomly into his life but it didn’t look like she was eager to leave him behind anytime soon, and Draco really had no complaints about that.</p><p>He would spend most of his days with Theo and Blaise, in between the Conservatory (he was an honorary guest, according to the Dean) and meetings and lunches with family friends, but every now and then his mobile phone would chime with a new message. Sometimes a random text, sometimes a song, sometimes a joke she found online and thought was worth sharing.</p><p>One day, Hermione sent him a selfie of her gently scratching the snout of a beautiful white cat, long fur and eyes almost squeezed shut under her touch.</p><p>
  <em>                                                didn’t know you hanged around torre argentina </em>
</p><p>Draco laughed at the text and got distracted from the conversation he was having with a couple of professors, because he just couldn’t stop looking at her face on his screen.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t look much pleased, though </em>
</p><p>
  <em>reminds me of someone </em>
</p><p>The more days passed, the more they would meet up for a bite, for a walk or for a night out. They would go to museums and archaeological sites and Draco would silently listen to her as she told him historical anecdotes behind every column and ancient stone they encountered. Her face would light up whenever she remembered something new she <em> had to </em> share and her eyes would get brighter and brighter – the beauty of Rome reflected in them – as she narrated a new piece of a story as though it was the newest episode of the most anticipated show on tv. </p><p>But his favourite expression of hers was when Hermione would find herself in front of one of her favourite pieces of art and he could see the exact moment it took her breath away.</p><p>The first time he witnessed it, they were at the Vatican Museums. Walking through countless halls and corridors and salons and chambers, they crossed the inside of the Vatican palace and the small courts, letting their eyes be filled with the artistic wonders they found at every corner. </p><p>Hermione’s features transfigured into an expression of pure adoration when they stopped in front of the Laocoön group, steadily positioned in an alcove in one of the first courtyards they entered.</p><p>“Critics have called it the prototype of human agony,” she whispered, unable to move her eyes away from the statue or speak louder, lest it broke the magic she was experiencing. “The myth says that he had to survive the death of his kids.”</p><p>Draco couldn’t blame her. The marble was so perfectly sculpted that it looked alive. Laocoön’s face was distorted in pain and torment, his eyes raised to the sky, unable to look at his own sons being killed because of his prophecy. His whole body seemed to tremble in the effort of getting rid of the snakes twisting around him and his boys, the sheer force of his struggle palpable through the stone. The look in the kids’ eyes was so <em> real</em>. Begging, desperately trying to escape the lethal grip of the serpents, and yet already succumbing to their unavoidable fate.</p><p>If someone had asked Draco whether the sight in front of him shook something in him so much so his eyes were shimmering with tears, he would have lied and said it was just the burning sun.</p><p>After hours of walking and staring at paintings with Hermione’s arm looped around his, they finally reached the Sistine Chapel. She was explaining the long and complex story behind the decoration of the Chapel, complete with all the unofficial - but supposedly true - reasons behind Pope Sixtus’ decision for one artist or the other, along with anecdotes about the Medici family, when they crossed the threshold that led into the Chapel. Her head stopped mid-turn when her eyes caught the first glimpse of the massive <em> Last Judgment</em> painted on the wall to their right.</p><p>The words died in her mouth and her jaw went slack looking at Michelangelo’s work. Draco had to push her lightly to get her to walk and not block the flow of people behind them. Hermione startled when she felt his hand on her back and quickly shook her head to gain control over herself; she stepped further into the room, head still turned towards the immortal fresco. Seeing as she wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking, he kept his hand on her to guide her steps; finally, he raised his eyes when they got to the middle of the room to take in the famous Italian painter’s masterpiece.</p><p>“I don’t even know where to look,” he whispered in her ear.</p><p>“Everywhere at the same time. It <em> has </em>to be chaotic and unsettling,” she replied, bright colors shining through her widened eyes.</p><p>“I thought Judgment Day was the one where we will finally be freed from our sins. What’s unsettling about that?”</p><p>“You’re literally coming face to face with God and all of your life’s mistakes. And there’s no coming back from it. I’d be terrified.”</p><p>His eyes were fixed on the fresco, running from face to face, from body to body. The heavy muscles made each person look excessively weighted by the terror of the judgment standing before them; although floating in the blue sky or walking on white clouds, the souls all looked so painfully human that the contrast with the monumental Christ right in the middle of the wall was exceptionally striking. His raised hand and the Virgin Mary squeezing herself against him made them look almost repulsed by those very souls they were supposedly saving and protecting.</p><p>Suddenly, a thought made its way to Draco’s mind. For centuries on end, people have been all ruled by the same primal instinct: fear. Each one gives it a different name and each one finds a different reason why to be afraid but, at the end of the day, every human who has ever walked the Earth is just a fearful creature who has no idea what the future holds for them. And they look for every way to face this utter terror, a reason to wake up again every morning. </p><p>He had, maybe naively, thought that the power of religion lay in giving this comfort to whomever sought it. But, looking at Michelangelo’s work, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. What the artist had painted right in the heart of the Catholic Church was everything <em> but </em> comfort, it was everything <em> but </em> peace. It was pure fright and panicked dread, the perfect depiction of the human condition, the essence of the human mind when, even by mistake, it lingers on the thought of the great beyond. And the Judging Christ was not welcoming his followers, just like the Virgin wasn’t waiting for her children with open arms.</p><p>What if there were too many sins? What if there had been too many unforgivable actions? What if that mighty hand was dropping down to point to a destiny of eternal suffering? If not even God’s face in your final moment was bringing you quiet, what would have happened to you if you had to face Hell? If not even the Lord could forgive you… </p><p>Draco moved his arms to wrap around Hermione and she immediately clung to him with both hands, letting her weight shift and her head lean back against his chest, right under his chin. He closed his eyes as her hair brushed against his cheek. They stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing and letting beauty invade their senses. Then, pulling back slightly, his gaze got lost in her profile while she kept looking at the incredible work of art: with her nose pointing upward and her eyes filled with awe slowly moving across every detail she could grasp, she was mind-blowingly beautiful. </p><p>And the chest-pressing feeling Michelangelo had managed to pass onto him through the centuries vanished in a flicker: the Lord might not forgive him when his time came around, but it didn’t matter. Because his peace was right there, with his arms around a woman who was slowly but surely becoming his anchor in a sea of frightening thoughts, surrounded by artistry and free to just close his eyes and let time and space slip over him like some paltry matters.</p><p>Hermione sighed and Draco pressed a kiss to her cheek; she took her eyes off of the fresco to look at him, her smile soft and sweet. Her hand reached for his neck and she pulled him down to her, letting their lips meet as her thumb stroked his jaw. </p><p>He got lost in her absolving touch, warmth spreading through him as she breathed into his mouth.</p><p>It lasted for a second and a lifetime.</p><p>Under the eyes of God, right beneath <em> The creation of Adam</em>, Heaven and Hell became just painting on a wall.</p><p>-</p><p>On a Thursday, Draco went to meet her at one of the countless places where yet another part of the Weasley family lived: he was finding out that they had spread around the city like the freckles on their faces. He waited for Hermione to arrive at the Giardino degli Aranci, sitting on a bench and looking at the summer clouds surrounding the Basilica dome under the frame of the orange trees behind his black shades. He breathed in the inebriating scent of the garden as he heard some American tourists talk about San Domenico and the first orange tree he had planted, which then died but became the foundation for the new tree that still gives fruits to this day. “Apparently, it's been blooming right in August for eight centuries straight,” one told the other as they looked at the white flowers on the trees, and Draco once again felt like this summer truly was the one thing his life had always been leading up to.</p><p>Hermione arrived with a skinny kid in tow. He couldn’t have been more than five but he was way too tall for his age and, unsurprisingly, he looked exactly like the rest of his red-headed family. Stopping in front of him, the kid analysed him from head to toe with an inquisitive gaze as Draco took off his sunglasses and did the same, and then he asked his name in squeaky English. Hermione watched amusedly as Draco tried his best not to look irritated at a <em> kid </em> who probably just had a crush on his favourite baby-sitter and felt possessive towards her, and then she kneeled down in front of the little ginger as he whispered something in her ear, his chubby and tiny hand raised to cover his mouth. She nodded seriously and then pointed in the direction of a group of children, where he promptly ran to after swiftly waving at the two adults.</p><p>“He says you have a weird name,” she sniggered, taking her phone and calling the kid’s mother to tell her where to meet them.</p><p>“He’s called <em> Guglielmo</em>! I don’t even know how to <em> spell </em> that,” Draco scoffed, putting his sunglasses back on as Hermione sat next to him, eyes fixed on the kid and phone to her ear.</p><p>When his mum arrived, Guglielmo ran back to them to hug Hermione goodbye and he screamed a “Ciao!” to Draco’s way before trotting back to his friends.</p><p>“I think he likes you,” said Hermione as they walked away from the garden.</p><p>“I can survive without a child’s appreciation, Granger, don’t worry about me.”</p><p>“Sure you can,” she muttered, absentmindedly leaving a kiss on his cheek.</p><p>Hermione decided she had to take him to see the iconic site of yet another scene of <em> Vacanze Romane</em>, so they headed to the Bocca della Verità. When they got in front of the statue, she was already telling him every legend surrounding the mask.</p><p>“So, bottom line, if you’ve ever lied in your life, the thing will eat your hand.”</p><p>“How can it know?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “It’s the <em> Gods</em>, Draco, of course they know. It’s like Santa knowing whether you’ve been good or naughty. They just know. In you go,” she concluded, pointing at the stony face in front of them.</p><p>Draco eyed her sceptically, before looking at the open mouth of the statue and he felt a chill run down his spine. Not that he believed in folklore legends, obviously.</p><p>He hesitated for a fraction of second and Hermione tilted her head to the side. “Scared, Malfoy?”</p><p>He looked at her sideways. “You wish,” and he pushed his hand inside. He waited for a few seconds and felt relief spread through him when nothing happened, which made him scoff internally because he couldn’t believe he was really anxious about a popular myth.</p><p>“Your turn, now,” he said, retrieving his hand and looking at Hermione with a smug grin.</p><p>She cleared her throat and adjusted the sleeves of her jeans jacket on her arm, before putting her hand inside the mouth in a jiff. She smiled at him and he was about to say something about her beloved legends, when she suddenly screamed and turned back to the statue in terror, trying to pull her arm out. Draco flinched and then immediately stepped closer to her with no clue of what was going on, his hands running over her shoulders and back trying to make sure she was alright. </p><p>When Hermione removed her arm from the cavity of the mask, she looked horrified at the emptiness where once was her now missing hand. It took him a couple of seconds and a few shocked glances to her, before realizing that she was desperately trying to keep up a frightened expression and was hiding her hand under her sleeve.</p><p>“<em>Get fucked, Granger!</em>” he cried out, letting go of her and storming away as her closed fist slipped out in the open and she burst into a laugh so loud that she got tears in her eyes.</p><p>After apologising to the family behind them, the parents glaring at her, she ran after him. “Oh, come on, you didn’t really believe it had eaten my hand!” </p><p>She caught him a few metres away, wrapping and locking her arms around his torso.</p><p>“Piss off,” he retorted, trying to untie the solid twist of her arms. His attempts were weak though, the hint of a smile already tugging at his lips despite his best efforts to keep up an angry face.</p><p>“It’s a <em> statue</em>, Draco! I can’t believe you really fell for it,” she tried and failed not to laugh again.</p><p>At his frown, she stood on the tip of her toes to press a kiss on his lips. “Aww, don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you,” she grinned at him, leaving another kiss, and then another, and another, and another, until she felt his cheeks lift up with a smile and his grip on her tighten to pull her closer.</p><p>Yeah, those were two pretty incredible weeks, Draco thought as they set off to a new destination.</p><p>-</p><p>He is sitting on one of the red chairs in the main hall of the Conservatory, listening to Theo playing the piano on the stage. Well, <em> playing </em> is a bit of an exaggeration. His friend is mostly screaming at the sheets of paper in front of him, obsessively writing and then erasing musical notes from them.</p><p>“Maybe you should–” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy, I have to figure it out on my own.”</p><p>“I thought you <em> needed </em> me?”</p><p>“Yes, so you can keep an eye on me so that I don’t break the piano.” </p><p>Draco’s mobile phone chimes. </p><p>“I told you to put it on silent mode!” </p><p>Theo is… agitated. And prone to obliterate everything and everyone around him when he writes music, so Draco always does whatever he asks. </p><p>“Sorry, I was sure I’d done it,” he says, taking his phone out of his pocket and putting it on silent mode, before reading the notification.</p><p>
  <em> harry wants to go take a pic of the colosseum for the band’s insta or something </em>
</p><p>
  <em> wanna come? </em>
</p><p>“Who is it?”</p><p>“Granger.”</p><p>“Nope. You have plans with me,” Theo says, quickly standing up and walking over to him.</p><p>“Mh.” Draco doesn’t even try to argue.</p><p>
  <em>Baby-sitting Nott </em>
</p><p>
  <em>bring him w you </em>
</p><p>“She says… what the f– give it back!” </p><p>But Theo has already seized his phone and turned around to read the chat and text his reply to Hermione.</p><p>
  <em>it’s theo, u want me to be the third wheel??? i’ll stop talking to u </em>
</p><p>
  <em>you like me too much to stop talking to me </em>
</p><p>Draco tries to pry his phone away from his friend’s hands but it’s a lost cause. Theo shakes him off so he just falls back in his chair with a grunt.</p><p>
  <em>so you WANT TO that’s it i’m keeping him </em>
</p><p>
  <em>harry’s with me </em>
</p><p>
  <em>i’ll make sure he pays enough attention to you, ok? </em>
</p><p>“Here,” Theo throws the phone at Draco and walks back to the stage. He catches it only narrowly and reads the chat, a loud snort escaping him.</p><p>“Got something on your mind, Malfoy?” </p><p>“Who, me? All good. Just wondering when you’ll start thinking with your brain rather than just with your di–” but his words get cut off when he has to duck behind a chair to avoid the rubber Theo has thrown his way at massive speed.</p><p>
  <em> Time?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> we’ll be there in 10</em>
</p><p>
  <em> See you in a bit </em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione is patiently waiting for Harry to make up his mind as to where to stand, phone in one hand, camera hanging from her neck and knees moving in and out to let her weight shift.</p><p>“How’s the work of art coming out?” Theo asks when he and Draco are a few feet away. </p><p>Both Hermione and Harry turn around at the now familiar voice and open in a smile when they see the boys walking towards them. Draco ghosts a light kiss on her forehead while Theo shakes Harry’s hand to greet him.</p><p>“Not great, my star here is very picky,” Hermione says, unlocking both phone and camera to show Theo what she has so far.</p><p>“I’m not picky,” Harry says flouncing, “it’s just that none of them are right.”</p><p>She grumbles, scrolling through countless pictures from every possible angle of the monument in front of them. Theo looks closely at a couple of them, then turns to Harry to ask him what he needs them for.</p><p>“New single cover.”</p><p>After contemplating for a moment, he nods. “Let me hear the song and maybe I can help you with this.” </p><p>Theo takes the phone and camera from Hermione and walks to Harry, who’s already taking out his headphones to put the music on. Hermione gladly leaves him with the impossible task of matching her best friend’s requests, and instead drags Draco to a nearby bench in the shade. They sit down and she immediately twirls on the spot to lay on her back, head resting in Draco’s lap, as he mindlessly runs his fingers through her hair.</p><p>His gaze is fixed in the distance, taking in the stances of the grand monuments in front of him. The Colosseum stands large and steady against the shining sun, incurant to the hoards of people with their noses pointing upwards to look at it, unchanging in its undying magnificence. Not too far away, he can see the Arch of Constantine and the ancient road leading up to it, beaten by countless feet coming from every corner of the world. His eyes keep scanning the horizon to see the ruins of a long-lost but timeless past, when Hermione’s voice brings him back to the present.</p><p>“Do you hear it?”</p><p>Her eyes are closed, one of her hands is on top of his, delicately resting on her belly.</p><p>“Hear what?”</p><p>“The music of the city.”</p><p>He looks down at her, her face kissed by the rays of the sun, its bright light shining through her thick curls tangled in his hand. A light chuckle escapes his lips.</p><p>“Don’t laugh, I’m serious. Close your eyes.”</p><p>“There’s no music.”</p><p>“It’s the same thing I told Luna the first time she made me do this. Close your eyes.”</p><p>He doesn’t. He’s trying to memorise every mole on her face, every light freckle on her bare shoulders and collarbone, the length of her eyelashes. How could he close his eyes?</p><p>Hermione opens hers with an exasperated sigh. “I said close,” she says, putting a hand over his face and making him snort.</p><p>“Focus. Do you hear it?”</p><p>The sunlight tingles his eyelids but Draco keeps his eyes closed. The first thing his ears catch is the calm rhythm of her breathing: he got pretty used to recognise it. It’s almost a reflex, tuning his senses to hers, now that her body has become almost as familiar to him as his own. Then, his ears start capturing different harmonies, different beats.</p><p>Shoes tapping against the stone.</p><p>The click of camera shutters.</p><p>A child laughing.</p><p>Lips smacking against a cheek.</p><p>The rumble of a car engine.</p><p>An electric scooter.</p><p>A loud, masculine voice calling for tourists and offering pictures.</p><p>Water flowing from a drinking fountain.</p><p>Coins rattling.</p><p>The wind through the leaves, caressing the eternal buildings and his mortal body at the same time.</p><p>The sounds of the city assemble together in his brain, mixing and mingling one with the other until Draco is unable to separate them. Rome’s melody builds up in his heart and makes it vibrate with its unstoppable tempo, chaotic and yet firm, present and yet dragged to this one moment in time through centuries of history, always the same and always different. A beating heart that inevitably draws everyone to it, magnificently and wonderfully alive.</p><p>“I love this place. Nowhere else in the world has ever made me feel like this. I think nowhere else will,” Hermione says with her voice low, making Draco flutter his eyes open. </p><p>He drags his hand from the top of her head to her cheek, gently cupping it and stroking her temple with his thumb.</p><p>Her lips stretch in a smile. “Don’t distract me.”</p><p>“That’s the hundredth,” he whispers, leaning down a bit.</p><p>She frowns, eyes still closed. “The hundredth what?”</p><p>“The hundredth smile you gave me,” Draco explains stretching back on the bench.</p><p>(He <em> was </em> keeping count, after all.)</p><p>Hermione tries to force her features in an irritated pout but it inevitably becomes a new smile. “You’re trying to distract me and I’m listening to Rome.”</p><p>“I’m not doing anything. Keep listening,” he says, his short nails grazing her soft sun-kissed cheek.  </p><p>“You’re like a pet that needs constant attention,” Hermione chides him, but she opens her eyes, sits up and presses her mouth on his.</p><p>Her hands lock behind his neck as he smiles against her warm, pouty lips.</p><p>“Oi, lovebirds!” </p><p>Theo’s loud voice makes them break apart but Draco swiftly reaches for her hand and intertwines his fingers with hers. </p><p>Sometimes, he stops and thinks about the fact that this constant need for physical contact with Hermione is something totally new for him (and honestly a bit terrifying), something he’s never had with anyone else before– not with his parents or friends or even his ex-girlfriends, really; but he always decides to lock the information away in a remote part of his brain so that it won’t nag him at any hand hold or stroke of her fingers. </p><p>Why worrying about it, anyway? He likes the way she feels under his touch and she doesn’t draw back from it, and that’s the end of it. Besides, this thing between them is not going to last forever: better to scrap the best from every moment they have and leave it at that.</p><p>“<em>This </em> is what I meant,” says Harry falling on the bench next to Hermione and showing her a picture Theo has taken. </p><p>Draco catches a glimpse of it over her shoulder: Harry’s profile is out of focus against the Colosseum and the building is filtered in the shot through his glasses. Hermione comments it with her friend while the blond turns to shoot a meaningful look at Theo.</p><p>“You’re on fucking thin ice, Malfoy,” he mouths from behind Hermione, and Draco just smirks at his friend.</p><p>“I just need a couple more, one at the Altare della Patria and one at the Pantheon. One at the Gianicolo terrace, too, but I’m not sure about that yet. I’d wait for Neville’s input since he was the one suggesting that place, I think he has a specific idea in mind about it,” Harry explains as Hermione keeps scrolling through the pictures.</p><p>“That’s pretty far away,” Theo says. “How would you even get there?”</p><p>“Well, I have my bicycle,” Harry shrugs.</p><p>“Good luck with that,” Draco comments, remembering about the very uphill road to the terrace. Worth the struggle, given that from up there the view over the city is absolutely breathtaking; but it’s a suicide mission to do it without a working engine.</p><p>“I’ve never been there.”</p><p>Harry doesn’t hide his surprise at Hermione’s remark. “I was sure Ron had taken you there!”</p><p><em> Useless prat</em>, Draco thinks.</p><p>“Nope, never,” she sighs. “Always heard wonders about it, though.” Her eyes drop to Draco’s hand still entangled in hers and her thumb traces the lines on his palm.</p><p>He doesn’t need to think about it, really. “Let’s go now, I’m taking you.”</p><p>“And with <em> what</em>, if I may ask?” Theo glares at him, already knowing what his friend is about to say.</p><p>Draco holds his gaze. “Scooter.”</p><p>“What makes you think that I’m giving you <em> my </em> scooter? That you didn’t even want me to rent, may I add.”</p><p>“You’re going with Harry anyway, aren’t you?” Draco innocently says, turning towards Harry to avoid his friend’s killing glare. “You said you have to take more pictures.”</p><p>“I mean, fine by me, mate,” Harry says. He tells Theo that he can take Hermione’s bicycle, ignoring the battle of looks that’s going on between him and the blond. </p><p>Hermione jumps upright with a yelp and runs to hug Theo, who startles and lets out a heavy breath through his nose.</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>“Your doe eyes don’t work with me.”</p><p>Hermione emphatically bats her eyelashes some more and pouts. “<em>Please</em>?”</p><p>“Come on, Nott, you know you can’t resist her,” Draco says with a grin while Harry laughs.</p><p>Theo groans loudly as he reaches for the scooter keys in his pocket and hands them over to Hermione, who in return gives him the keys for her bike’s padlock. She’s about to stamp a kiss on his cheek but he stops her.</p><p>“No, thanks, go do that with him. Now piss off, both of you,” he grimaces as Hermione laughs. </p><p>She eagerly takes Draco’s hand and he pulls her under his arm.</p><p>“I’ll text you later,” the blond tells his friend over his shoulder, already walking away.</p><p>“Keep us posted with the pictures!” shouts Hermione, waving a hand over her head.</p><p>Theo and Harry look at each other and sigh, resigning themselves to be abandoned by the couple (and not for the first time). </p><p>-</p><p>It was already late in the day when Draco had joined Hermione at the Colosseum, so when they park the scooter at their final destination the sky is turning towards tints of orange, pink and dark purple. Hermione was captivated by the shape-shifting clouds on the road as Draco darted through traffic on the Lungotevere and up the Latium hills with her arms firmly locked around his torso.</p><p>He turns the engine off not far away from the large piazza, in the midst of countless worried words from Hermione, who’s really not used to motorbikes and can’t grasp the idea that he can leave it just about anywhere.</p><p>They cover the short distance that separates them from the terrace rather quickly, eager to see the famous lookout of the city at sunset. Or, more precisely, Hermione huffs after finally giving Draco her helmet and then drags him to the terrace, her hand holding his wrist the whole time. He keeps getting dragged around Rome by this little tornado who’s half hair and half sass, but Draco can’t complain: he rather enjoys it.</p><p>Hermione is left completely speechless upon reaching the viewpoint.</p><p>Rome is flushed with a bright, orange light; the warm tone touches every building and plays with their shapes and colours, making the whole city look like a beautiful painting that will be forever still in one single moment in time. Hermione’s eyes wander on the skyline, slowly moving across the lines of houses and architectures, so scrutinising and focused that Draco is sure she’s trying to see inside every single one of them. Her fingers grip on the parapet of the balcony, her hand runs up to point at something every time she recognises a famous monument and her head quickly flips toward his with a high-pitched and ecstatic cry to check if he’s seeing what she’s seeing. </p><p>As she minutely scans the horizon, small puffs of delighted rapture escape her lips and her lifted hand stretches out, as though she’s trying to touch the pinnacle of the highest monument she can see with the tip of her finger. She looks like an angel taking off, leaving the dull, colourless Earth behind and reaching for the only place she belongs to, up in the sky with ethereal beings, surrounded by brightness.   </p><p>The gleaming sunlight encapsulates her, her lean arm almost golden in the touch of the setting sun. The beams of light knot with the waves of her hair: while Hermione’s gaze is completely taken by Rome’s outline, Draco’s is hypnotised by how her curls glimmer in the glowing light like a crown. He can almost count every spiral, every twirl, every bouncing lock of hair, each and every one of them a different shade of colour in between dark brown and amber yellow. Her small fringe only just about shades her eyes and the rest falls down to adorn her cheeks, making her look elegant and wild at the same time.</p><p>He’s suddenly reminded of a Shakespeare’s verse. </p><p>
  <em> O that I were a glove upon that hand, </em></p><p><em>That I might touch that cheek! </em> </p><p>Draco finally understands.</p><p>“I feel like I’m on top of the world. It’s so beautiful,” Hermione whispers, eyes still devouring the marvellous view in front of her.</p><p>His hand on the balcony moves closer to hers without even noticing. But she doesn’t notice either, too caught up as she is in admiring her favourite city. </p><p>“Yeah. Really beautiful,” he repeats in a breath, eyes fixed on the woman capturing his soul the same way Rome is capturing hers.</p><p>He can’t believe what's happening. He’s known Hermione for less than a month and yet, here he is, mesmerised and completely under her spell. Every time he sees her, he finds a new detail that tips out a little of her warm, human magic upon the air and leaves him even more beguiled than before.</p><p>Hermione turns in a flare at his voice and he immediately drives his eyes away from her and finally to the city, a petrifying feeling coursing through him at the thought of what she might read in them.</p><p>With a small smirk, she grabs his arm, lifts it and slips underneath it, letting his hand rest on her shoulder and sliding her other arm around his back, while her head gracefully tilts to lean against his chest.</p><p>“Your eyes look like they’re on fire,” she says when she peers up at him.</p><p>Draco chuckles. “You’re distracting me and I’m watching Rome, Granger,” he teases her with her own words.</p><p>They stay there just like this, still and quiet, gently gripping on each other and letting the sight of the city that brought them together sink into their eyes.</p><p>As the sun sets and the dark shades crawl out and spread over the buildings, Draco is painfully aware that, just like their side of the Earth slowly but inevitably spins around to hide from the Sun every day, their night is about to come upon them as well.</p><p>-</p><p>He drives her home and his helmet is still on when she reaches up to kiss him goodnight.</p><p>Hermione rummages in her bag to find the house keys and Draco waits, sitting on the saddle, looking at her muttering curses at the dozens of objects she carries around. It’s like she uses a magic spell to keep everything inside because there shouldn’t be <em> that </em> much space in it.</p><p>“Intercom?” he suggests. “You said Neville’s home.”</p><p>“It’s broken,” she mumbles, still searching deep in that bottomless pit. She finally finds her treasure and looks at him with a winning smile.</p><p>He fondly shakes his head and is about to turn on the engine as she unlocks the main door, when words slip out of his lips involuntarily, leaving him stunned in shock.</p><p>“Hermione, I…”</p><p>As soon as she hears her own name in his voice, she turns around with eyes wide in surprise: he’s never called her by her first name before. A small sound leaves her mouth, maybe innocuous surprise, maybe hopeful anticipation– of what, he’s not really sure. </p><p>Draco can’t be sure of anything right now, his mind is running wild, a thousand words and thoughts and hopes and fears swirling inside his head.</p><p>Until his throat clogs up with an unspeakable, utterly terrifying sentence, and suddenly he feels the days in front of them slip out of his hands, like he drowned them in oil and now they’re unable to hold even the smallest thing. </p><p>They only have two weeks left, and then the magic will be over: a bright flicker of a wand in the dark is all he and Hermione will ever be.</p><p>He blinks quickly several times to push the unsettling feelings away. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at my place. I’ve got tickets for the Galleria Borghese.”</p><p>A swift flash of disappointment crosses Hermione’s features and Draco’s hands curl into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms (<em>God, he’s such an idiot</em>), but then the emotion fades away as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual warm and open smile.</p><p>“Sure, I’ll call you,” she says, her tone soft and delicate. </p><p>He desperately wants to know what her voice would sound like if he pressed his body against hers, kissed his way up her neck, tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged. He wants to know if she’d gasp or moan, he wants to know what she’d whisper in his ears. </p><p>“Goodnight, Draco.”</p><p>He clears his throat and nods. “‘Night, Granger.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Guglielmo is translated to William which is usually shortened as Bill so, <i>yes</i>, we did put as many Weasleys as possible in this fic.<br/>
Little fun facts:<br/>
- for all the cat lovers: in Torre Argentina there is the oldest cat sanctuary in Rome! Find more about it at <a href="https://www.gattidiroma.net/web/en/">this link</a>.<br/>
- Hermione really loves <i>Vacanze Romane</i>, so much so that she replayed the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6af1dAc9rXo">exact same trick</a> Gregory Peck did on Audrey Hepburn.<br/>
- and, obviously, the Shakespeare reference comes from <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> because we love star-crossed lovers, don’t we?<br/>
</p><p> - </p><p>This chapter is a bit shorter than the others but we promise we’re going to make it up to you. With the next chapters (obviously), but also with something else that’s in the works... that might find the light of day soon... <i>very</i> soon...<br/>
As per usual, we thrive on comments :) and, in case you wanna discuss the beauties of Rome with us, our twitters are <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a>.<br/>
See you! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ξενέρωσα</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Xenérosa</b></i> is the term that refers to the effort of stopping a feeling of interest or feeling excited about something or someone. Not a loss of interest or enthusiasm, but the result of a sudden or unexpected encounter or situation that causes a person to change a perspective or idea.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello :) just a brief remark.<br/><br/>This chapter contains some light smut. It’s really <i>really</i> light (visually, we’d compare it to one of the slightly-explicit-but-not-that-much scenes in Bridgerton) but we understand that it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, so if you want to skip it no worries, in the end notes you’ll find everything important you need to know! We highlighted in <b>bold</b> two lines to make it easier for you to find the beginning and the end, everything is safe before and after those :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<hr/><p>“I think it’s going to rain,” Draco frowns, peering at the rain-heavy dark clouds crowding on the horizon.</p><p>“Nonsense. It’s a beautiful day. This isn’t London.”</p><p>“Clouds are still clouds. And they don’t look pretty,” he retorts rather nervously. “We don’t have an umbrella. Should I go get an umbrella?”</p><p>“It’s not going to rain, Draco,” Hermione repeats with an exasperated sigh and grabs his hand to make him start walking.</p><p>They met at piazza di Spagna. She was waiting for him leaning against the corner wall of the square, reading a book (she’s still bitter that the city’s council had decided to forbid people to sit on the steps, it was one of her favourite things to do). She was holding the paperback with one hand while the other was raised to shield herself from the sun. Which was pretty strong. <em> It wasn’t going to rain</em>.</p><p>“Reading something compelling, Granger?” Draco asked as soon as he stepped into her view, startling her out of her focus.</p><p>“Actually, yes. This book it’s absolutely amazing,” she told him, showing him the cover. </p><p>He read the Italian words and tried to translate. “The genial friend?” </p><p>“<em>My brilliant friend</em>. This is the Italian version.” Of course Hermione read Italian literature <em> in Italian</em>. “Incredible, let me tell you, I’m hooked to every single word. But you’ll find the English version easily enough, if you want to give it a try.” And of course she’d assume he hadn’t read it, never mind in its original language.</p><p>After putting the book away and ignoring his remarks about the weather, she now twists her fingers with his and starts climbing the Spanish Steps. The pair chat about random stuff, every now and then commenting on the outfits of some odd tourists. Hermione’s favourites are the German dads: their arms are sunburned, they wear dark, reflective and weirdly shaped sunglasses, and they are always, always, <em> always </em> wearing sandals with socks; she can spot one from miles away.</p><p>“Have I ever told you that the Pincio terrace is my favourite spot in the entire city?”</p><p>“You mentioned something,” says Draco casually, as if he doesn’t remember even the sighs she has directed at him.</p><p>“I just love this road that leads there. There’s something fascinating about it, it gets me every time,” Hermione goes on, her eyes wandering on the city in front of her. “Maybe it’s the way you see the whole city but you’re still deeply buried in it.”</p><p>“You know that old saying, ‘all roads lead to Rome’? Maybe that’s the trick,” Draco thinks out loud, his gaze lost on the Eternal City. “She traps you in and the only way you can really enjoy it is from up close, when you get lost in her.”</p><p>“‘She’?” Hermione teases.</p><p>“Oh, it’s definitely a she,” he says. “Incredibly beautiful and exceptionally clever, with a touch of complexity,” he smirks down at her. “It’s definitely a she.”</p><p>When they get to the terrace right in front of Villa Borghese, it’s, as per usual, crowded with tourists. Hermione, small as she is, wriggles her way to the front of the balcony to take in the view over Piazza del Popolo, even for just a few seconds. Draco is a little far behind, answering a call from Blaise who informs him that he and Theo won’t be home that night because they have to attend an event somewhere. Hanging up, he sees her leaning against the stony parapet, chin raised and eyes closed, inhaling Rome’s scent. </p><p>The blue of her high waisted jeans matches the electric blue-grey of the sky (he’s still positive it’s going to rain) and her green, figure-hugging top blends in with the Villa’s colours.</p><p>He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until he hears the shutter of his phone camera, and then Draco is staring at her photo on his screen. Hermione turns around and he looks at her with (what he hopes is just) a regular smile, not too sheepish, not too smug.</p><p>“Light was right,” he shrugs as she approaches him.</p><p>“Do I look good?” She eyes the phone, then takes it from his hands and zooms in on the picture. “Hm. Yeah, light was right. Can you send it to me?”</p><p>They set off towards the park, the Galleria is right at the opposite end of it. The walk there should take them a solid 20 minutes but they’re very early so they take their time, strolling through the surrounding nature and stopping here and there to admire wonders hidden by the vast green around them.</p><p>They stop in front of the Globe Theatre, which makes Draco start a long half-rant and half-lecture about Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in London, and Hermione listens quietly, amused by his hands gesticulating in the air but enthralled by the way he’s pouring his heart in every word and sinuous movement of his body. His eyes twinkle, they are a peculiar shade of grey that matches the sky. <em> Hm, maybe it is going to rain</em>, she thinks, but she’s not going to tell him that.</p><p>They stop in front of the Garden of the Lake, where Hermione promptly starts telling the story behind the Temple dedicated to Aesculapius that’s standing on the bank, along with the ones of the Sundial and the Fountain of the Satyrs Family. It’s Draco’s turn to listen quietly, chipping in to make snarky remarks he doesn’t really mean just to see her eyes flash at him in a warning to shut up and not interrupt her again, before she resumes with the story.</p><p>They pass countless fountains on the path to the museum, until they finally get in front of the one facing the beautiful and unmistakable facade of the Galleria, just in time for their booked tickets. Draco is still worriedly eyeing the sky every now and then, but he’s glad that there’s an exit nearby on the street: if things go south, they can still get a taxi.</p><p>The tour of the museum isn’t long but it’s filled with breathtaking paintings by some of the most famous names of Italian tradition. Just like it happened at the Vatican Museums, they stare at the canvases in long silences, scrupulously looking at every detail, reading the story behind the image when they don’t know it or just listening to the other explain it.</p><p>Draco’s favourites are Caravaggio’s: the artist’s black strokes fill his eyes and he gets lost in the game of lights created in the scenes. When they find themselves in front of the <em> David with the Head of Goliath</em>, he can’t help but feel his heart clench at the terrible sight.</p><p>“David has been Florence’s symbol for a long time,” Hermione explains as Draco looks at the young boy’s gaze fixed on the head in his hands. “Because he’s the small but witty young man who was able to win over the huge and powerful giant, just like the small city of Florence became a massive powerhouse during the Medici years. But he’s almost never portrayed as suffering because of his mission…” she adds sadly, looking at the face in front of her.</p><p>“I remember something about Caravaggio never actually ending up doing what he was commissioned to do,” Draco says. “And I also remember something about him putting his self-portrait in Goliath’s face.”</p><p>“Apparently, yes. Says a lot about the way he perceived himself.”</p><p>“But the fact that David is still looking at him with that… I don’t know. It’s almost as if he looks sorry for him,” he continues, pointing at the young man’s face on the wall, who’s frowning in remorse. “He’s not holding Goliath’s head close. And his shoulders look curved down. I feel like Caravaggio is putting his own misery out there and yet, at the same time, he’s recognising the effect his suffering has on other people but also… he’s realising that sometimes they don’t really have a choice with him. Or rather, he doesn’t really leave them much of a choice than to react against him and end up suppressing him. Or even– sometimes they just don’t have a choice, but in a more general sense. See,” he points at David’s shoulder to guide Hermione through his reasoning, “the arm that holds the sword is almost completely swallowed by darkness. The rest of David’s body is hit by the bright light, but his right arm is completely covered in black. Goliath’s face is both light and darkness, but David is darkness only when it comes to his mission.”</p><p>Draco pauses for a second, trying to catch up with his intricate train of thoughts. “Do you remember his story?” </p><p>“I believe… I believe he was chosen by God to be the new king of Israel. The passage is famous, something like ‘Rise and anoint him, for he is the one’. I don’t remember how he ended up fighting Goliath, though, we can look it up,” she says, already unlocking her phone, but Draco stops her.</p><p>“It’s fine, it already proves my point.”</p><p>“It does? I’m not sure God told him to kill Goliath…”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. He was chosen to be the new king for His people, wasn’t he? From the very moment he was marked with God's words, David stopped having his own choice: if the people were in danger, he had to protect them because it’s what he had been called to do. I think what Caravaggio tried to do was… in a way… I guess, show the human conflict of that unbearable weight on a man that is nothing more than just a kid. And I reckon he did a tremendous job,” he concludes with a shrug, trying to push away the heavy feelings the painting has awakened in him.</p><p>With their hands intertwined, Hermione feels Draco’s muscles tense. She gazes up at him, his piercing grey eyes lost in the scene in front of him and, beyond that, in thoughts so deep that she’s sure no one has ever been able to reach. He looks as though he’s trying to get away from the pain displayed on the canvas but, at the same time, there’s an urgent need in him to unveil every aspect of the artistic metaphor. </p><p>With her free hand she gently rubs his arm, up and down in a soothing motion. It’s for his benefit as much as hers, because Hermione suddenly finds herself wishing she were the one he’d share everything that crosses his mind with. After a while, he clears his throat, giving her a small smile before guiding her to the next room.</p><p>They follow the mapped tour through all the rooms, until they get to the staircase that leads them to the ground floor, and Hermione’s eyes start sparkling with joy when she begins telling the story of the sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini, whose works are mainly stored in the Galleria.</p><p>“Wasn’t he the same one who designed piazza San Pietro? Who made the colonnade in such a shape that had to recall the embrace of God, or something?”</p><p>“Yes, it’s him!” she yelps excitedly when Draco remembers her incessant talking from the day they went up on the San Pietro dome. “And he also made the Baldachin in the church,” she starts listing all Bernini’s works as she walks down the stairs, until her eyes catch a glimpse of the room behind the near threshold and she draws a heavy gasp, immediately running towards it.</p><p>Shaking his head but with a huge grin plastered on his face, Draco follows her into the enormous space that opens in front of them. His black Vans tick ever-so-lightly against the marble floor as his eyes roam around every corner, trying to take in all at once the decorations on the floor and on the ceiling, the frescoes on the walls framed by golden bas-relieves and the emperors’ busts on the sidelines, all leading up to the massive sculpture right in the middle of it.</p><p>Hermione is standing in front of it, her rebellious hair almost touching her lower back as her head tilts upwards to look at the faces carved in the stone. She turns to look for him and stretches her hand in a gesture to come closer. Draco wraps his arms around her from behind and lowers his head to rest his chin on her shoulder.</p><p>“You should try and look at their faces,” she says when she feels the contact through the fabric of her top.</p><p>“What about their faces?”</p><p>Hermione’s hand springs up to point at the man and the woman standing tall and still, frozen in time. “You know Persephone, don’t you?”</p><p>“The Queen of Hell. I do remember some Greek myths, I told you,” he smirks.</p><p>She keeps pointing. “Look at her. Look at the contrast between her and Hades. Look at her face. She’s…”</p><p>“Crying,” Draco finishes for her.</p><p>Persephone’s head is straying as far away as possible from Hades’, her hand pressed on his face to turn him away, so forcefully that the locks of his long beard appear shifting in the wind created by the sudden motion. She’s trying to free herself from his iron grip and two single, lonely tears roll down her perfectly smooth cheek, as her mouth opens in a silent scream and her eyes hold the desperation of her lost freedom.</p><p>“Yes. She’s crying,” Hermione says, her voice low. “And look at him. His eyes are turned towards her but there’s not one hint of compassion in them. Not a drop of resentment for his actions. I’d dare to say that his smile is almost… smug? Or maybe not. Maybe almost confused as to why she’s rejecting him.”</p><p>Hades is holding Persephone as a personal trophy. Leaning both their weights on his left leg, as her struggles to break loose only help him in lifting her higher and carrying her just like spoils of war. Her soft, pure and untarnished body is strikingly different from his muscular one, harsh and tense. Draco lets Hermione go as they walk around the statue to see the visible spasm of each and every single one of Hades’ muscles, his veins visible through the skin, his swift and sturdy action captured by Bernini with extreme meticulosity, almost challenging the physical limits of the marble.</p><p>“It’s like watching a screencap from a movie,” he says, captivated by the motionless action in front of him. “As though you just paused and they’re about to start running again.”</p><p>Hermione is silent but her right arm moves, hand passing across her belly to grip on the curve of her waist, right below her ribcage. Draco sees her fingers dig into her skin as her gaze stays fixed on the statue, and he follows her eyes to find out she’s mimicking on her own body Hades’ hold on Persephone. </p><p>The King of the Underworld squeezes the young woman so harshly that his hands sink into her flesh, one steadily on her hip and the other one grabbing her thigh. The astonishing plastic strength is matched by the incredible realism created by the immaculate technique, and Persephone’s skin is so corporeal and material that it’s actually spilling out of the god’s hand. He’s grabbing her so tightly that – just like Hermione’s on herself – his fingers dig into her body: if the marble suddenly moved, Persephone’s body would be covered in red marks and bruises.</p><p>Draco’s hands twitch, realising how much the physical intrusion portrayed by the statue is unsettling Hermione. He wants to hold her to give her some kind of comfort but he deems it better to leave her alone in this moment; he’s not sure his hands would be as welcomed as they usually are, so he buries them in his pockets.</p><p>Hearing the shuffle of his feet, she turns to look at him, her brown eyes wide and glistening with tears. She stares at him for a moment, not embarrassed by the deep emotions visibly coursing through her, then slowly takes his hands and wraps his arms around her like a blanket. Draco lets his fingers tentatively rest on the small patch of skin between her jeans and the hem of her crop top, a ghost touch on her body. </p><p>The contrast between his delicate touch, careful and sensitive, and Hades’ coarse one, rough and abrasive, makes Hermione’s body erupt in goosebumps and sag into Draco’s warmth. He feels her shivering quietly against his chest, and when she sniffs, he leans down a bit, just enough to press his lips to her temple.  </p><p>-</p><p>“I told you it wasn’t going to rain.” </p><p>They step out of the Gallery and the sky looks just as they left it a couple of hours earlier. And yet, Draco can feel the air heavy with the smell of rain, not to mention the dark clouds dangerously close to the spot of blue over their head. </p><p>“We can still get a taxi. Just to rest our legs,” he tries.</p><p>“Nonsense. You have to see the sun set over the terrace: it points west, it’s breathtaking,” Hermione insists, taking her light cardigan from her bag and putting it over her shoulders. So what, maybe it is going to rain, but she’s still not going to admit it out loud.</p><p>They are halfway through the park when the sky flashes white behind the trees with the instant brightness of lightning. Draco can’t even begin to curse that they hear a loud thunder in the distance. Hermione stops and looks up at the clouds, frowning.</p><p>“Mad that they’re not listening to you?” Draco is already a few steps in front of her, trying to accelerate his pace to find shelter before the storm finds them.</p><p>“I checked the forecast, it wasn’t going to rain!” she complains. </p><p>“Yeah, should we waste time arguing with the weather or should we just get going?” he tells her impatiently. “I don’t want to wait for the water to– <em> fuck</em>!” </p><p>A drop falls right on his nose. “Fuck, fuck, <em> fuck</em>. I told you we needed an umbrella.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Hermione slips her hand in his. “Let’s run.”</p><p>No matter how fast they make their legs move, the rain finds them as soon as they step out of Villa Borghese. It’s not violent at first: the big drops fall from the sky and splash against the pavement and their bodies, making some locks of hair stick against their skin, but it’s tolerable. Draco steps in a newly formed puddle and curses aloud when he feels his foot drown in the water, and Hermione almost slips out of her sandals a couple of times as they frantically try to get home, but they still think they can make it. Draco’s flat is not too far away.</p><p>They start running down the same road they took to get to the park, surrounded by the sploshing sounds of their shoes against the wet sampietrini and gripping onto each other to keep their balance when they’re about to lose it. Then, a new thunder, much louder than the first one, makes them jump, and the rain starts pouring down on them.</p><p>Hermione yelps as Draco hastily drags her under the nearest balcony to find cover from the raging summer storm, and she hugs him tightly, pressing herself to him as they try to squeeze away from the drops as best as they can.</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, before she stars laughing hysterically.</p><p>“What’s so funny, Granger?”</p><p>She looks up at him and her eyelashes are wet with drops of rain, her smile big and her hair splashed on her cheeks and neck. “Nothing, Malfoy. Should I be crying? Would that appease you best?” </p><p>She keeps grinning at him and he rolls his eyes, pretty annoyed at the whole situation. He <em> knew </em> it was going to rain. He told her. </p><p>“I told you.”</p><p>She ignores him. </p><p>“Your eyes look really beautiful in this light.”</p><p>Draco snaps his head around so quickly that he distinctly hears a crack. </p><p>There’s a small gathering of raindrops pooling on the groove of her cupid’s bow and her curls draw beautiful shapes on her skin. Hermione brings her hand up to move the wet locks from his eyes and he draws a sharp breath, suddenly extremely aware of her body pressed against him. She dries his forehead with caressing fingers, before letting them comb through his hair until they reach the back of his head.</p><p>“Hermione…” his voice is a low murmur.</p><p>He tightens his grip on her hips, not sure if he’s warning her to stop or encouraging her to say what he desperately wants her to say. He flashes Persephone’s skin under Hades’ touch, then Hermione clutching on herself and his hands sliding over her curves. </p><p><em> God</em>, he wants her.</p><p>“That’s the second time you’ve called me Hermione, and in less than twenty-four hours,” she whispers, her voice almost inaudible in the loud pattering of the rain. </p><p>Her fingers close around a handful of hair and her nails graze his nape, as her other hand leisurely moves up his back against his wet shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles and spine. Draco hears a thick breath run out of his nostrils as his eyes close under her touch, and, next thing he knows, Hermione has pulled him down and her lips are crashing against his, wet and slippery but fierce and impetuous.</p><p>This isn’t like their first kiss on Ginny’s terrace. Two weeks have passed, countless replicas and, most importantly, one very chaste night spent together curled up against one another. With every passing day, his memory has kept replaying that intimate contact over and over again, tickling the back of his head and making his lungs throb whenever he’s able to let his hands caress her soft skin again. And now, with Hermione scratching his back through the fabric of the shirt glued to his skin, with her impatient and arousing moans dripping into his mouth right from the back of her throat, Draco can’t hold himself back anymore.</p><p>His hungry hands draw her closer to his body and he steps forward until Hermione’s back is pressed against the stone of the building wall. She gasps into his mouth and moves her hand from his shoulders down to his chest, her fingers running on his abs and clutching on the drenched shirt as his mouth leaves hers to trace her jawline. She whines at the loss but tilts her head backwards to give him more access.</p><p>The column of her neck is completely exposed to him, and Draco leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses until he gets to her pulse point and sucks gently, before soothing the reddening area with his tongue. He hears a moan and a thud as Hermione's head hits the wall behind her. She’s breathing heavily while his hand cups her jaw, strokes it, then angles it to gain even more room to do as he pleases. </p><p>Every new contact of his warm and wet lips on her skin elicits small sounds from hers, and, at the tenth or maybe hundredth she makes, he bites down on her sensitive skin where her jaw meets her neck. Hermione almost sobs, lost in the sensations he’s wringing out of her. At the sting of his teeth, she tugs at his hair making him hiss; she digs her nails into his hips, bringing him flush against her, and he groans at the feeling of her breasts against his chest. </p><p>Pulling his head up, she captures his mouth again, making them both moan. She hastily slips her hand under his shirt and Draco presses his thigh between her legs, when a sudden gust of wind brings the heavy raindrops back their way, forcing them to pull apart with a loud gasp.</p><p>They’re panting, blinking the rain away and at each other for a long moment, heartbeats so strong that they both can feel them roaring in their ears.</p><p>Draco’s chest is rising and falling so fast he thinks it’s going to explode, and his eyes can’t move from Hermione’s– <em> everything</em>. Her wet wild hair sticking in all directions, her flushed cheeks, the puffs of air coming from her kiss-swollen lips, her top… her soaked top now turned deep, dark green, the outline of her bra visible through it. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly before speaking, but it doesn’t seem to calm anything in him.</p><p>“Zabini, um… Zabini and Nott… aren’t home,” he says, trying to breathe. </p><p>When he focuses his gaze on Hermione again, she’s biting her lower lip and her eyes are still fervently fixed on the lines of his abdomen. His limbs are screaming at him to <em> move </em> and go back at what they were doing mere seconds ago.   </p><p>Hearing his hoarse voice, she looks up at him in a flash and the hunger in her eyes is like a punch to the gut, taking his breath away. As soon as she processes the information he’s just given her, she grabs his wrist and pulls up on her tiptoes to kiss him deeply one more time.</p><p>His lungs are not going to survive this. </p><p>“Let’s go,” she breathes into his mouth.</p><p>They start running again in the middle of the storm, trying their best to keep their eyes clear from the water that keeps falling in buckets over them. It’s not linear and it’s messy and every time Hermione’s sandals make her stumble, Draco holds her firmly and pushes her against the nearest wall to taste her tongue again. Then they resume running but keep stopping whenever they accidentally crash one onto the other, their bodies unable to stay apart for more than a couple of minutes, hooked on the friction given by the other, addicted to the rush of adrenaline and recklessness that washes over them like the incessant rain coming from the sky when they collide.</p><p>It’s Hermione that hastily pushes him against the main door of the building the moment they finally get to Draco’s place, and it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to put the keys in the lock once she allows him. She tries to dry her face as best as she can with her top and wrings out her hair as she waits for him to finally open the door.</p><p>As soon as they’re safely inside, Draco pulls her close once more, water dripping from their clothes on the marble floor and their panting echoing in the wide hallway along with the sound of skin against skin. They stagger to the stairs and climb them messily, floor after floor until he finally sees his flat’s door and goes to open it. Hermione is trying to make his goal as hard as possible, licking his neck like a thirsty kitten. </p><p>She closes the front door behind her and whimpers when he’s immediately back on her, caging her in. He towers over her, and she arches her back against the heavy wood when his hands spread open on it on either side of her face. Then, she touches his bare forearms, sleeves rolled up past his elbows: the pads of her fingers trace his arm veins up and down for a while, before starting to scratch his biceps. </p><p>Draco growls and bites down on the curve of her jaw.</p><p>“Fuck, Granger,” he manages to mutter against her ear lobe, sending shivers down her spine.</p><p>“I swear to God, Malfoy, if you keep talking without letting your hands go past where it’s socially acceptable, I’m going to walk out of here,” Hermione says breathlessly, already moving her hands to find the buttons of his shirt.</p><p>“Should have known you’d be commanding in bed, too,” and her predictable reply that they are not actually in bed (yet) is cut off by his hands running to the back of her thighs to hoist her up on his hips.</p><p><strong>He takes her to the living room and falls down on the big couch</strong>, half sitting half lying on it, letting her adjust herself on his lap. He’s about to let his fingers slide under Hermione’s drenched top, when she undoes the first buttons of his shirt and attaches her lips to his collarbone, making him falter in his movements. She rakes her teeth across his skin, relishing the short stubble under his chin. His fingers tremble under the wave of pleasure that crashes over him but he gathers enough sense of mind to help her unbutton the rest of the shirt, as Hermione’s mouth heads down to his torso hungrier with every new inch left uncovered.</p><p>She hurriedly throws the wet garment away, almost growling when a sleeve gets stuck on his wristwatch, and keeps tracing his chest and his abs with her tongue, sucking red marks here and there, slowly moving down on his body. When she sucks on his nipple, Draco gasps and tugs on her hair with the hand he’s firmly keeping knotted in her dripping curls. He knows where she’s headed but he takes her wrists in one hand before she can get to his belt, and pulls her up.</p><p>“I thought you said something about <em> my </em> hands,” he sibilates, and in a swift movement of his hips he turns them around and positions himself on top of her. </p><p>He raises her arms over her head and pins them to the couch with one hand, while the other goes to her waist as his body finds its way between her legs. Hermione readily opens them and yet he knows she’s about to come up with another remark, so Draco doesn’t waste any time in finally, <em> finally</em>, slipping his hand under her top, effectively shutting her up. </p><p>Although she shivers and her breath catches at the contact with his rain-cold hand, Hermione feels every centimetre of her body blaze up in flames. The green top quickly joins the discarded white shirt on the floor as soon as he pulls it past her arms. He pauses then, sits on his haunches and just stares at her, her arms still up where he left them. They are both breathing heavily, and he lets his eyes roam all over her. </p><p>Draco has never seen something so beautiful. </p><p>Rome and its beauty could perish if it meant he got to see Hermione Granger like this every day for the rest of his life. </p><p>He blinks and a small smile has found its way to her features. It’s one of her rare ones. He would know. He’s lucky enough to have seen it a few times: her sheepish smile, the one she wears when she’s insecure about something; or, rather, when there is a small crack in her confidence of steel. A small crevice coming from the past, from something or someone unknown to him. He wants to mend those rifts, and yet she’s as beautiful and whole as she’s ever been. </p><p>Slowly, to give her time to object, his hand inches up her body, from her waist to her ribcage. Looking up at her, he receives a small nod. He continues then, first tracing the outline of her grey lace bralette, then moving to spread his hand around the wing and grip the side of her chest. Hermione is nodding forcefully when he glances up again: Draco drags his hand over her covered breasts, where his fingers start playing with her turgid nipples through the light fabric, making her exhale in pleasure.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.</p><p>“Draco…”</p><p>She brings one of her hands to his arm, gripping, pleading with him with a simple gesture when she can’t find the words. He can’t but obey: he instantly leans down and attaches his mouth to her skin, his tongue meticulously following the path drawn for him by the plunging neckline of her bra.</p><p>A gasping “Bloody hell” escapes Hermione’s lips as his hard length comes in contact with her still clothed but very much aroused core. She starts canting her hips against him, then loops one leg over his to get a better grip and her nails dig deep into his naked back when she finds the perfect angle. </p><p>She’s sure there will be scratches in the morning, just like she knows she’ll find purple-black bruises where Draco is sucking and biting every time he tugs and pulls more fabric away from her brown skin– but she can’t bring herself to care. The throbbing between her thighs is becoming unbearable by the second, the same way he’s getting harder against her. Hickeys and telling spots of red over their bodies are the last of her concerns, right now.</p><p>After what seems like an eternity to her but must have been just a couple of minutes, Draco has almost completely removed her bra and his lips are grazing the sensitive skin around her nipple, his tongue firm and precise against the softness of her breast. Hermione’s hands grip and tug at him, his hair, his hips, his trousers, while incoherent sounds tumble out of her mouth. Finally, she manages to get her hands on the latter to remove them.</p><p>Draco gets the hint and raises his hips to help her, never taking his lips away from her warm skin. Hermione manages to unzip the fly, earning a bite close to her nipple before he starts sucking on it. She’s a mess of “yes” and “Draco” and “please”, of loud whimpers and gasps and sounds as inebriating as the most refined of wines.</p><p>She tugs his hair and he hisses, pulling her nipple with his teeth in retaliation. She screams and–</p><p>“Oh my... Blaise, come here!”</p><p>
  <strong>They both jump upright in horror.</strong>
</p><p>They haven’t heard the rattling noise of a key in the lock, nor the unmistakable sound of voices. <em>Painfully familiar</em> voices.</p><p>They haven’t heard Theo, and now Blaise, coming into the living room.</p><p>“Fuck. Fuck, <em> fuck</em>, shit,” and another colourful string of imaginative curses comes from Draco’s mouth as he tries to steady himself on his feet and rushes in front of the couch to hide a mortified Hermione behind his back.</p><p>Theo stands in front of him, one hand up to cover his mouth opened wide and the other one gesturing for Blaise to come forth. Draco’s glare is as deadly as it can be, while his hand quickly moves to the backrest of the couch to let the big cushion fall on Hermione. She welcomes it with a grunt when it lands on her head and keeps it over her body as she hastily pulls her bra straps back on her shoulders, trying to cover the rest of her naked chest from Theo’s amused eyes as best as she can.</p><p>“What’s going– oh, <em> shit</em>,” says Blaise when he finally reaches his friend and sees Draco standing shirtless in front of the couch with his cheeks flushed, red lines all over his arms, hickeys on his neck, messy wet hair plastered to his forehead and trying to close his trousers to cover the not-easily-conceivable hard-on straining the fabric of his underwear.</p><p>His eyes slip over Draco’s shoulders on Hermione’s bare back rising from the couch and he immediately turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut as his fingers draw circles on each of his temples.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, desperately trying to get the image of walking in on his best friend getting laid out of his brain. “Fuck, <em> fuck</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em> indeed!” Theo exclaims, the shit-eating grin on his face only getting bigger the more the situation clears in front of him. “Are we interrupting something, Malfoy?” He’s having the time of his goddamn life and the fact that Draco still can’t form any words only adds to Theo’s entertainment. </p><p>“You alright back there, Granger?” he says, trying to peer at her behind the blond. </p><p>Draco surges forward but he stops himself at the last second: Hermione is still half naked behind him and the only thing she can somehow cover herself with is a <em> bloody </em> pillow. If he moves…</p><p>Blaise slaps lightly the back of Theo’s head as soon as he hears him addressing Hermione. “You <em> fucker</em>, stop looking!” he shouts in his face, which only makes Theo laugh harder.</p><p>“Nott, if you don’t go to your room this fucking second, I will rip your heart out of your chest,” Draco finally growls, his hands closed in two thight fists, knuckles white in constraint. But apparently his friend has a death wish.</p><p>“This is the best day of my life,” Theo says instead.</p><p>If it wasn’t for Blaise quickly stepping in between them, hands firmly pressed on both their chests, Draco would have jumped at Theo’s neck with no second thought.</p><p>Hermione faintly clears her throat and Draco instantly turns around. She has found a light blanket lying somewhere in the room and has wrapped it around her shoulders, clasping it on the front with her hands slipping out from under the cover. Her face is flushed, a mix of their previous activities and embarrassment, and her eyes are open wide, looking so innocently at Draco as she draws some deep breaths to steady herself.</p><p>“Gentlemen,” she says with a nod in Theo and Blaise’s direction, the former still beaming at her over Blaise’s shoulder while the latter looks at the ceiling as if the white paint is suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever seen in his twenty-five years of life. </p><p>Taking another deep, if slightly trembling breath, her gaze shifts back on Draco and she speaks in a quiet voice. “Bathroom? I’d very much like to take a proper shower, if it’s not a problem.”</p><p>He blinks at her for a couple of seconds, thoughts of what <em> exactly </em> they were doing suddenly slamming into him, before raising his arm towards the bathroom door down the hall. “I uh… I’ll see if I can find you some dry clothes.”</p><p>Hermione gives him a small nod and he sees her jaw flex right where the skin is still red and damp from his kisses. “Right. Thank you,” she says, turning around and closing herself in the bathroom in a flash.</p><p>When she disappears behind the door leaving the boys in silence, Draco exhales loudly and his body deflates like a balloon losing its air, sitting on the armrest of the couch. Not even a second later, giggles find their way to his ears, making him spring back up in fury. He heads straight for Theo, hoping he can finally make him meet his maker, but Blaise is ready and Draco clashes chest-first against his open palm.</p><p>“You fucking called me and said you were at a bloody party!” the blond roars in both his friends’ faces.</p><p>“Well, you fucking dumbass, have you seen the raging storm?” Theo laughs back, raising his hands over his head to point at the ceiling, as to indicate the sky outside. “The party was out in the open and they had to postpone!”</p><p>“We didn’t know… didn’t think…” Blaise stutters. “Sorry. We should have called you…”</p><p>“Yeah, <em> you fucking should have</em>, Zabini!” Draco shouts again, shoving his hand away from his chest and falling heavily back on the couch with a long, loud groan.</p><p>Blaise looks at him, uncertain as to what to do.</p><p>“I mean, we could always…” Theo starts, but, before he can finish his sentence, Blaise grabs him and drags him across the living room and hallway to trash him into his room, loudly slamming the door behind him. His gaze finds Draco’s burning one: he’s about to come up with something to say, but his friend raises one long, pale finger, his eyes blinking shut.</p><p>“Don’t. Piss the fuck off.”</p><p>Blaise nods silently and heads to his room, leaving behind another miserable groan.</p><p>-</p><p>Draco has a problem. Well, as a matter of fact, he has multiple problems. But the one standing out right now is that he can’t take out of his head the sight of Hermione exiting the bathroom barefoot, a towel in her hands to gently pat on her hair, her body covered by the light fabric of one of his light blue shirts.</p><p>Every time he blinks, his brain reminds him of her neck peeping out from the rigid collar, the glimpse of her breastbone and the skin of her legs where the length of the shirt didn’t reach. He coats his arms with soap and he can see hers moving up and down her dark head of hair, her bicep flexing under the rolled up sleeve. <em> His </em> rolled up sleeve.</p><p>With his eyes wide open and the water of the shower falling on his body to wash away the messy bubble of cravings and desires that still hangs dangling between his chest and stomach, Draco has a vivid image of Hermione padding across the wooden floor to get into his room right in front of him.</p><p>The shirt was way too big for her but she didn’t button it all the way so her legs were still left almost completely uncovered as she walked. From his position on the couch, he could have peeked underneath the fabric fluttering around following her movements, if he had wanted to.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>Fuck, no, he didn’t. The situation was embarrassing enough already.</p><p>And yet, her skin is all his mind can focus on, right now. The way goosebumps covered her whole body under his hands when he whispered against her neck, how he traced the constellations of moles and freckles on her shoulders down to her chest, the spark that surged in him as soon as his fingers so much as traced the band of her bra, the lacy and reddish patterns that the tight fabric left on her golden skin, even the black–</p><p>Draco startles when he hears a knock on the door.</p><p>“Uh, yeah?” he shouts, turning the water off.</p><p>“Sorry, it’s me,” Hermione’s voice comes from behind the closed door. He hears her opening it a bit but he can’t see her through the frosted and matte glass of the shower door. “You left a pair of sweatpants on the bed, I thought you maybe needed them?” she says softly, peeping in.</p><p>“Oh. No, those are for you. Figured the shirt would have been a bit short,” he says, and, again, the image of her beneath him appears in front of his face, clear as day. Draco grimaces. “Sorry. I thought I told you.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” she tells him. “Well, um. Thank you. I’ll leave you,” and the door closes again with a quiet click.</p><p>Draco washes away the rest of the soap and gives his hair a firm shrug to let most of the water fall on the shower floor before stepping out on the bathroom carpet. He grabs a towelling robe to dry himself and turns to face the mirror. His reflection looks back at him as he drags his fingers through his thick locks back and forth for a while, before letting them fall on his forehead, making them tickle his skin and crack against his cheekbones.</p><p>One of his hands reaches the squared line of his jaw and he tilts his head to the side, drawing closer to the mirror across the sink. He grumbles as his pads trace the marks of Hermione’s bites on his otherwise fair and unblemished skin, adorning the length of his throat. When his hand moves to get a better grip on his neck and his fingers graze his Adam’s apple, the sudden memory of her touch on that precise spot and in that exact position crashes onto him so strongly that he gasps. </p><p>He immediately turns away and quickly gets dressed.</p><p>When he opens his bedroom door, the first thing he sees is Hermione reading a book, laying on his bed on her back, head sinking in the pillow that she moved to the middle of the mattress and bare feet resting on the headboard, cross-legged. She has put the shorts on; they’re quite bunched up because they’re large on her, but Draco silently thanks some unknown entity anyway because otherwise there would have been no room left for imagination.</p><p>And his imagination runs wild enough already, it doesn’t need any more input.</p><p>“Comfy?” he asks, walking in and closing the door behind him.</p><p>She turns her head just slightly to give him a small smile before diving back into the reading. “I’ll just finish this chapter and then I’ll be out of your hair. It stopped raining anyway.”</p><p>It did stop raining. The faint light of the after-storm is coming in through the opened curtains, along with voices and the chirping of birds.</p><p>“Actually, I was thinking maybe we could order a pizza,” it comes out more like a question, since Draco is not really sure where they stand right now, nor if they’re gonna talk about what happened between them. Or almost happened. </p><p>He slowly sits on the bed next to her, leaning with his back against the bedpost but leaving his feet on the floor so as to not touch her clean hair spread out on the mattress. He notices that she put a towel on top of the pillow, so that her wet curls wouldn't make it soaked. The hint of a smile pulls up the corner of his lips. </p><p>“After that, you’re welcome to stay obviously.”</p><p>Hermione puts the book down on her belly and stretches a hand to rub his knee, right beneath the hem of his short sweatpants. “I meant more like a plural ‘you’. Multiple heads of hair.”</p><p>Draco nods. He guesses they’re not going to talk, or they will but not tonight. He can’t blame her. It’s not like he’d know what to say, really. </p><p>“Fair. So, no pizza?”</p><p>“Oh, no! Yes pizza,” she says decidedly, right when her stomach makes a low, growling sound in agreement. “See?” she points at it. “But, after that, I’m going,” she concludes, leaving her hand to rest on his leg and picking up the book with the other.</p><p>“Good.” </p><p>Draco reaches the bedside table with his arm to grab his mobile phone and call the nearest pizzeria.</p><p>They wait in silence for their order to arrive, the only sound in the room coming from the rustling of the book pages as Hermione moves forward with her story. Every now and then, they hear the floor creak outside under either Theo’s or Blaise’s steps, but they all mostly stay in their rooms.</p><p>He glances at Hermione’s hand on his thigh and covers it with his own, before absentmindedly starting to stroke her knuckles while reading emails on his phone.</p><p>This is all completely new to Draco, this sensation that spreads through him whenever he’s with her; and yet it’s achingly familiar, like something long-lost or forgotten. It’s not supposed to be this way, not with someone he’s known only for a short amount of time, but his heart and mind find such comfort and warmth in her presence, a feeling of peace that he selfishly never wants to let go.</p><p>After a while, Hermione’s stomach grumbles again and he blinks his thoughts away.</p><p>“Hush,” she says, putting a hand on her belly as if to prevent it from making any more noise.</p><p>“They should be almost here,” Draco tells her, getting up to put his shoes on.</p><p>That’s when he sees a tiny piece of paper on the parquet in front of his door. He frowns as he goes to pick it up and scoffs when he reads what’s written on it. The intercom buzzes in that moment so he passes the note to Hermione, who sits up and looks at him with a curious expression.</p><p>
  <em> my friend (the smart one) says I should apologise </em>
</p><p>
  <em> sorry Granger, I wasn’t nice </em>
</p><p>
  <em> T </em>
</p><p>Her cheeks lift up as she bites her bottom lip and she follows Draco to the door to peep out of it when he opens it to go and retrieve their dinner from downstairs.</p><p>“Apology accepted!” she shouts across the hall, beaming at the blond when she hears the sound of a door being closed down the hall.</p><p>“God forbid he apologised to me, too,” he grunts.</p><p>“I already told you once: don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you,” Hermione tells him, before patting on his chest. “Hurry up, now, I’m starving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who skipped the smut, the important thing to know is that in in the middle of it, among the dizziness in Draco’s brain, he manages to come up with a parallel:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Draco has never seen something so beautiful. Rome and its beauty could perish if it meant he got to see Hermione Granger like this every day for the rest of his life.</i></p><p>Since we tend to get carried away when it comes to smut scenes, please let us know if you’d prefer clearer indications (line breaks, for example) for future chapters, just in case we might need to put some more warnings!</p><p> - </p><p>So... we’re already halfway through this journey! Time really flies when you’re having fun lol we hope you liked this chapter!! Let us know what you think about it (in the comments and/or on twitter, <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a>) :)<br/>
See you next week! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. παλικάρι</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Palikàri</b></i> is taken from the ancient Greek <i>pallax</i>, which meant young man or young lad; the modern Greek word <i>palikari</i> is used to describe a young man who is in his prime or has achieved something great beyond his years.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>One thing has been bugging Draco every waking moment of the few days that passed since the day of the storm. It tugs the back of his brain, it flashes against his closed eyelids and it exasperates him more and more with every passing second that he spends in uncertainty.</p><p>Right under Hermione’s bra, delicately carved in between her ribs, Draco can swear he saw the unmistakable black line of tattoo ink.</p><p>Sure, it could have been another thread of her bralette that just looked like something else to his eyes, blurred up in the heath of the moment; but the more he thinks about it, the more he is a hundred percent positive that it was, in fact, a tattoo.</p><p>Well, maybe not a <em> hundred </em> percent.</p><p>Ninety-nine.</p><p>And that remaining one is driving him insane.</p><p>He has tried his best to find out more about it, he has scrupulously searched every inch of her skin every time he got the chance, but all her outfits cover just the right amount of skin to make it impossible for him to complete his quest. </p><p>The striped white and blue dress Hermione wore one day, with its form-fitting band around her chest, was impenetrable. The day after, she paired her short overalls with just a light top underneath, but it was black and inscrutable. Then, at dinner last night, they were at a restaurant and a(nother) waiter was shamelessly flirting with her (<em>again</em>), so much so that the guy actually made her do a pirouette right under Draco’s glare. He was seething, but the feeling dissipated instantly when Hermione’s arm was lifted and he saw that the cut of the undersleeve of her flowery dress was deep: so deep, in fact, that it almost reached– </p><p>But it was a flash of a second and then it was gone.</p><p>Tonight, Draco, Theo and Blaise are walking to Trastevere to get to the pub where Harry managed to book a night of live music for <em> Riddikulus</em>. Hermione has been reminding Draco for days on end, mostly because he liked to mess with her and make her believe that he was going to change his mind at the very last minute.</p><p>“You’ll come to Harry’s thing tonight, right?” she said for the billionth time when she dropped by the boys’ flat earlier in the afternoon to lend Blaise a book.</p><p>“It’s hardly just Potter’s thing.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>Draco turned to her, then sighed. “And you know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.”</p><p>“It’s why I look at you like that,” she said with a smirk, putting the strap of her bag across her shoulder and heading for the door. </p><p>He swiftly slipped in front of her and covered the handle with one hand, maybe to open it or maybe to block her in. The other ran up to her face to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You’ve got them all fooled. You’re a villain, Granger.”</p><p>He punctuated it with a kiss on her nose, for good measure, and opened the door to let her out, her melodic laugh echoing through the stairwell and sounding like an arrangement of notes that would have never been played again.</p><p>The trio meets the twins halfway to the pub, and Theo and Fred distance the rest of them to smoke a cigarette. Upon arriving, George, Draco and Blaise make small talk outside the entrance while they wait for the ladies to arrive, mostly commenting on the graphic choices of the posters hanging all over the walls of the already crowded place.</p><p>“I mean, and this lion… it’s… I don’t know…” says George gesturing at the drawing of the animal with a frown. </p><p>“I don’t really get the lion with that name?” adds Blaise. Though in truth, if the band members had asked him, he would have said that it was simply genius. And sure enough, he stops talking as soon as Harry and Neville appear at the threshold of the pub. </p><p>A scattered applause springs from the small gathering that’s waiting to enter the pub and the two boys wave around with a big smile.</p><p>“Ron?” Fred asks, once he and Theo rejoin the group.</p><p>“Inside,” Neville replies, “checking something on the piano, I don’t know. I told him that he has practiced enough, but he doesn’t want to listen.”</p><p>“Typical,” George says, his eyes back on the poster. “We really need to talk about this thing.”</p><p>“No, we don’t,” says Harry, barely looking at him, pointing at Draco’s t-shirt instead: “See? Draco likes it.”</p><p>“Don’t get too excited about it, Potter,” he scoffs, eyeing the t-shirt Hermione had left him with a little more than a fortnight before.</p><p>Harry ignores him and stretches his neck over the crowd, eyes searching the street behind his lenses. “Ginny?”</p><p>“On your left,” her excited voice responds as the redhead appears with Luna and Hermione right behind Fred and Theo. </p><p>The latter startles, which makes Ginny chuckle and touch his shoulder in apology. “Sorry, did I scare you?”</p><p>“Just about,” he says, a faint smile on his face. </p><p>Ginny hugs him swiftly before going to greet Harry with a kiss, and Draco catches the usual confused expression Theo makes when some nail-biting feeling makes its way to his chest. It crosses his features for a split second, then disappears as quickly as it came, and he’s back on his usual smirk, saying hello to the other girls.</p><p>Luna makes her way to Blaise after exchanging greetings with everyone else, while Hermione lingers in a conversation with Fred for a couple of minutes before walking to Draco. Although she’s smiling at him (or might be due to the fact that he can’t quite look at her mouth without flashing back to their activities on the couch), his eyes instantly drop to that one spot that’s been stressing him out for the past few days.</p><p>Her hair is worn down, the fringe is neatly styled in controlled waves and a small claw clip firmly holds some of her curls into a half-updo: it’s enough not to make any locks fall on the front side of her body. So, really, there’s nothing blocking Draco’s view when he realises that the skin of her torso is only covered by the lacy burgundy band of her top. The spaghetti straps and the deep neckline clearly tell him that there’s no other fabric underneath. </p><p>If there is one moment where he can finally find some peace of mind, it’s right now.</p><p>Or, well, when he’ll see that patch of skin again without anything covering it. But God knows when <em> that </em> will be. Or even <em> if</em>.</p><p>She’s also holding a light, gold-toned checkered shirt: she knots the sleeves around her belly, a part of which is left uncovered by the medium cut of her ripped shorts. Draco curses silently when he gets a glimpse of her stomach, old images dancing in the back of his mind making space for new ones. His gaze slowly snakes over her body to take her in, down to her Converse’s and back up to that nerve-wracking spot.</p><p>Finally close enough that she can see the expression on his face, Hermione can’t help but pull out a sly smirk. She looks ravishing and she knows it.</p><p>“You’re wearing the t-shirt,” she says pointing at his chest.</p><p>“Had to show off my special gift,” he goes for a nonchalant shrug, trying not to grab her and pull her against him to kiss her. </p><p>Along with the relentless need to know more about the alleged tattoo, something else that hectic afternoon has left him with is an almost uncontrollable urge to finish what they had started. Which results in Draco needing to control himself in public, even more than what he’s been doing for weeks. </p><p>He’s going to take several deep breaths tonight.</p><p>Neville calls for everyone to go inside and Draco gestures for Hermione to go first.</p><p>“My, Malfoy, you’re such a gentleman tonight,” she teases, lowering her voice but going ahead.</p><p>“If you haven’t noticed, Granger, I’m always a gentleman,” he whispers leaning close to her ear, his hand subconsciously going to her back to guide her inside.</p><p>The pub is lightened by neon and glowing colour-changing lights and the air is alive with chatter and laughter. There’s music coming from boomboxes and Draco recognises the indie-alternative sound of some of the boys’ songs that Hermione made him listen to. Harry and Neville join Ron on the stage as the crowd gathers under it, some people standing right against the barriers.</p><p>“Holy shit, they actually have fans,” Theo is surprised when Harry climbs down to snap a few pictures with some of the people in the first row and Ron starts signing CDs.</p><p>“Yeah, they have a pretty good band manager. He knows how to do his job,” Fred comments, picking up his drink from the bar counter and not-so-subtly winking at the cute bartender, making her cheeks flush.</p><p>“They’re actually quite talented,” Luna adds. “I think they haven’t found their spark yet but they’re very close.”</p><p>“Hey, that’s my boyfriend on that stage,” Ginny gives her friend a fake-offended frown, and everyone sniggers.</p><p>“Constructive criticism, cousin,” George says and she rolls her eyes. “But I like that you didn’t mention Ron. You’re finally on our side, I see,” he concludes, earning a friendly open-handed slap on his arm.</p><p>“Alright, welcome everyone! Buonasera!” Harry's voice booms from the stage and they all turn towards it to whoop the band as a loud applause replaces the music being turned down. </p><p>Hermione grabs a stool and sits on it, taking Ginny in her arms and letting her lean back against her chest: her arms circle her friend’s body to hug her and Draco’s eye slips to her ribcage again. The light is too dim and saturated to make out something with certainty, but he’s almost sure that…</p><p>“I’m Harry and this is <em> Riddikulus</em>,” Harry goes on from the stage, making Draco turn and join the audience in another applause. “That’s my dear friend Ron Weasley at the piano,” he points towards Ron, who plays a few notes before standing and bowing amongst loud cheers. “And at the guitar, the impossibly talented Neville Longbottom,” he concludes as Neville delights the audience with a quick riff with his deep-purple guitar before waving with a smile and throwing the pick at someone in the first rows.</p><p>“Thank you for being here, it really means a lot to us,” Harry puts the microphone back in the stand. “Tonight, we’re going to play some of our originals and… well, I’d ask for a drumroll but Ron’s sitting at the piano,” he laughs.</p><p>“Hold up,” the redhead says, standing up and running to the back of the stage where the drumset is positioned, and pitches into the roll the twins have started on the tabletops.</p><p>“And…” Harry resumes, “a new song that will be released as a single next week,” he concludes with a bright smile, making the crowd explode.</p><p>“Is the photo you told me about for that single?” Blaise asks Theo, making Draco frown.</p><p>“Why the <em> fuck </em> do you have meaningful conversations with him and not with me?” he not-so-playfully slaps the back of his friend’s head.</p><p>“Piss off, I’m listening to Potter,” Theo replies, returning the slap on his leg.</p><p>Harry gets to the end of his introduction. “This first song is called <em> Seeker</em>.” </p><p>The music starts playing. The piano and the guitar mix together guiding Harry’s voice in a crescendo that hits its climax when the chorus starts, making the crowd go wild. Some people are singing along with them, including Ginny and Hermione who are literally screaming the lyrics into each other’s faces.</p><p>The concert goes on, moving from upbeat pieces to slower and acoustic ones: some songs give more room to Neville’s guitar, others to Ron’s piano. Sometimes, one or more of them drop their instrument to put something else in the mix: they do it for Draco’s favourite piece, a song called <em> Nimbus </em> – whatever that means – where Ron switches to the drums and Harry sits at the piano, while Neville gets the chance to do an incredible riff right after the bridge that earns him the unanimous cheering of the entire pub, bartenders included.</p><p>For another piece, the name of which Draco doesn't really catch, Fred joins them on the stage to play the trumpet, and Hermione drags both Ginny and Luna to the centre of the room to dance on the metallic and bright sound of the instrument. Draco is sipping his drink and the heel of his foot taps on the floor rhythmically, but the song isn’t really getting to his mind, captivated as he is by Hermione spinning and jumping, with her hair waving around following the movements of her head. </p><p>The strong quaking of the floor under countless feet shakes him enough already, but looking at her twirling and swaying with the tempo, the colourful lights disappearing into her curls and reflecting on her brown skin, playing with the shadows of her features, with a look on her face worthy of a killer queen, it all makes Draco feel like his heart is going up and down on a rollercoaster. </p><p>“You guys are incredible tonight,” Harry spurs his audience, earning shouts of enthusiasm, “and I hope you’ll like the next song, too!” </p><p>He re-adjusts the mic stand and grabs a water bottle someone passes him. After drinking eagerly, he lets some water fall on his head to wash away the drops of sweat, grinning when he hears Ginny whistling and smacking a kiss in the air in his direction. He throws a couple of bottles at Ron and Neville, before turning back to the mic.</p><p>“So, this one was actually written very recently and this city… this country, too, played a big part in the process. Ron came up with the melody.” Scattered cheers spring up across the room; Blaise shoots a deadly glare at his friends when they don’t immediately join the applause, making them clap with a roll of their eyes.</p><p>“And then we worked together on it. What we wanted to do was put in it what a dear friend of ours calls ‘the sound of the city’,” Harry continues looking at Luna, who smiles in Ginny’s arms as Hermione leaves a kiss on her cheek. “And it’s, um… well, it’s still a love song. But it’s that weird kind of feeling when something is over and yet you’re not really sad; there’s some bittersweetness in it, I reckon, and consciousness of disillusionment. Am I making any sense?” he makes a face but the pub cheers him on. “Right, I guess it’s better if we just play it. Neville chose the title– Neville?” he gestures for the guitarist to do the honours.</p><p>“Um, yeah,” the blond says, stepping closer to the microphone and spreading his fingers on the guitar frets. “This is <em> La favola bella</em>.”</p><p>As the first notes of the song spread in the air, Draco freezes. “Oh, shit.”</p><p>Theo and Blaise turn to him with a puzzled look on their faces. “The beautiful tale?” Blaise translates.</p><p>“<em>La favola bella, che ieri m’illuse, che oggi t’illude</em>…” Draco starts quoting from memory, eyes wide open, his pronunciation slightly staggering.</p><p>“… <em>o Ermione</em>,” Hermione finishes for him as she suddenly appears by his side, pronouncing her own name in a perfect Italian accent. “It’s a poem by an Italian poet of the early 1900’s,” she explains, sitting on the free stool next to Draco. “I’m surprised you know it.”</p><p>He swallows down a sharp comment. Among other things. “This one for you, Granger?”</p><p>She smirks, unaware of the emotions forcefully slamming into Draco, leaving him almost breathless. “Let’s find out.”</p><p>The story Harry is singing is so generic and universal that, really, it could be about anyone. The melody builds up, wrapping the audience in a sunny and warm embrace, but, here and there, drops of glimpses into what feels like a dark abyss appear, ripping a tear in the cloak of magic. A long-lost love carries itself around, still bright and sparkly but, as Harry said before, the awareness that the enchantment has been broken for some time lingers around, as the low notes Ron hits when everyone least expects it clearly show. </p><p>The piece is incredibly beautiful, and the care and attention the boys are putting into it is so delicate that, when it finishes, everyone blinks at them in silence for a long moment, almost suspended in time, before erupting in the loudest applause of the night.</p><p>Draco glances at Hermione and he’s not really surprised to see her eyes shimmering. He leans in to softly whisper in her ear, “I think it was for you.”</p><p>She pushes her fist against his arm. “Shut it. They wrote it together.”</p><p>“But one of them came up with both the melody and idea.”</p><p>“Well,” she sniffs, “then, I’m honoured. It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah, it really is.”</p><p>Hermione looks at him sideways. “You’re weirdly calm.”</p><p><em> Calm </em> is not a word he’d use to describe himself right now. He cocks an eyebrow in question.</p><p>“I mean, I see you in these… <em> situations</em>,” she says, gesturing around in the air.</p><p>“You see me,” Draco repeats.</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>He keeps looking at her without saying a word, a grin curling up the corner of his mouth. The song truly was beautiful and, besides, he can’t really blame the ginger for being still hung up on her. </p><p>He has <em> seen </em> her, too.</p><p>Hermione steps closer to him and bites her lower lip, seemingly nervous or pondering something for a moment. </p><p>“You haven’t kissed me, tonight.”</p><p>“You haven’t kissed me either.” Draco tries to keep himself under control and pretend like his stomach isn’t doing somersaults.</p><p>She adjusts her top and is about to say something else, when she notices his eyes dropping to the newly revealed patch of skin and delving there. “What?” she asks, frowning.</p><p>Draco’s gaze snaps back to hers, his cheeks flushing bright red at being caught. He clears his throat. “What ‘what’?”</p><p>She raises her arm to inspect herself, her fingers tracing the spot that’s been giving him an endless headache. </p><p>“What’s wrong? What are you looki–<em>oh</em>.”</p><p>He quickly turns away and she grins like a Cheshire cat, speaking in a way that he’s sure will welcome him at the gates of Hell. “You can ask, Malfoy.”</p><p>“Ask what?” he says, snatching his glass from the table and gulping down more than half of his drink.</p><p>Hermione moves the lacy fabric aside and turns sideways to give him a better view of her body. “Is this what caught your attention?”</p><p>Right there, drawn over two of her ribs, inked into her smooth skin, a black thread unfurls into the tattoo of a minimalistic outline of half a violin. Draco feels like his mind has finally stopped turning and twisting after an eternal spin. </p><p>He was right. He spent countless hours trying to picture it in his mind, wondering more than once if he was going crazy, and, in the end, he was right. </p><p>He looks at the small decoration for several moments. His fingers burn with the urge to trace it. His bicep spasms when his elbow moves to raise his hand but his brain stops the motion, aware that, if he put his hands on her in this precise moment, he would trace that <em> bloody </em> line but surely not with his <em> fingers</em>.</p><p>Hermione doesn’t notice the effort it takes him to act normal and re-adjusts her top, obstructing his view again. “You like it?”</p><p>Draco blinks several times, sighing in relief when he realises she’s covered herself, then pulls out what he hopes is a collected expression. “Yes. It suits you.”</p><p>“I know,” she chirps, before spinning on her heels to go hug Harry, Ron and Neville. </p><p>The band joins their friends after shaking hands with the crowd, taking pictures and signing autographs. Draco congratulates them on the show along with everyone else in their group, and he tries his best to get Hermione’s tattoo out of his head. </p><p>(He fails. Miserably. Thank God this is between him and his own mind.)</p><p>Someone clears their throat beside him and he turns to find Ron’s blue eyes looking at him in a somewhat unsettling way.</p><p>“Malfoy.”</p><p>“Weasley,” he startles. “Uh– good show, congratulations,” he tells him, a bit awkwardly.</p><p>Ron clears his throat again. “Thank you. I, uh… I meant to ask you something.”</p><p>Draco blinks, the request catching him off-guard, but he nods.</p><p>“Well,” Ron goes on, rubbing his hands on his jeans, “it’s about that last song.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, I loved it, it’s really beautiful,” Draco begins. “The arpeggio in the bridge with the key change–”</p><p>“Was it you who left notes throughout the musical score on the piano at Hermione’s place?”</p><p>Draco almost chokes on his words but manages to close his mouth before anything (more) embarrassing can occur. He had forgotten about <em> that</em>, given how the last few minutes have played out.</p><p>“Do you mean, um, the ones…”</p><p>“It was really just this one.”</p><p>“I– well,” he swallows. “Yes, but it was just a random thing, it wasn’t, um… I didn’t mean to–”</p><p>“Right,” Ron cuts him off. “I figured. It was… I actually threw them away as soon as I saw them, because… but then I kinda went back to them and I had to admit that they actually made sense,” he grimaces, and Draco can’t blame him. He, too, is looking at his own knees with unprecedented curiosity. “And I was in a bit of a swamp with the piece, so getting a fresh suggestion really helped with, um… the inspiration.” </p><p>Ron clears his throat for the third time. He looks like he wants to thank him but they both know he will never say the words out loud. “So. That’s it, I guess.”</p><p>Draco clears his throat as well, grimacing inwardly at the cringiness of the scene. “Um, well. Glad it helped.”</p><p>The redhead nods before muttering something and walking away, revealing behind him a stunned Hermione and a beaming Theo, who have both been watching the scene with their mouths ajar.</p><p>“This is an interesting plot twist,” the boy comments, shaking Hermione out of her surprise and making her giggle.</p><p>“Right, who would have thought! You and Ron having a <em> moment</em>,” she jokes, wiggling her eyebrows at the blond. </p><p>Draco shakes his head but he’s actually relieved that she isn’t commenting on the actual issue or asking questions about it. Before he can reply in kind, he hears Blaise calling him.</p><p>“...right, Draco?”</p><p>“Huh? Sorry, I missed that.”</p><p>Harry is looking at him with a weird spark in his eyes. Ginny, too, looks… excited?</p><p>“The boys were saying that they wanted to play a cover, since the crowd is still here and maybe someone else will stop and get a CD on the way out,” Blaise explains. “But they need another person to play the guitar.”</p><p>“He’s playing,” Draco points at Neville, deliberately ignoring the implications in Blaise’s tone.</p><p>“Neville is needed with the bass,” Blaise replies calmly.</p><p>“Then you do it, strings are your thing,” Draco shrugs, still playing dumb.</p><p>“Can’t. I have a performance tomorrow and you know I never touch strings in the 24 hours beforehand. No exceptions, not even for them.”</p><p>“Do you or do you not play the guitar, Malfoy?” George says, arms crossed on his chest. “It’s really easy to settle this.”</p><p>Hermione scoffs and asks Theo something that Draco can’t really catch.</p><p>He sighs. “Yeah, but…”</p><p>“That’s it, then!” Harry exclaims, already rubbing his hands together and heading to the stage.</p><p>“No, hold up, Potter,” Draco says, still sitting on his stool. “I don’t even know what you want to–”</p><p>“You familiar with Hozier?” It’s Neville asking, and Draco knows that every excuse he can come up with is going to be pointless because Theo is already up and laughing.</p><p>“If he’s <em> familiar </em>with Hozier? My boy here has Hozier’s entire discography on vinyl!” his traitor friend says, walking to him and grabbing his shoulders. </p><p>Draco sees Blaise mouth a “Sorry” that looks everything but heartfelt, while Theo goes on squeezing his cheeks. He shoves his friend away, which does little to nothing to stop him from being an arsehole. </p><p>“His wet dream is writing a melody for him, isn’t that right, my sweet little Draco?” </p><p>“<em>Ah-ah</em>. I have a favourite singer, it truly is hilarious, Nott,” he glares at his soon-to-be ex friend.</p><p>“I know he’s messing around but maybe you should try and reach out,” Harry tells him in such a serious tone that makes Draco instantly look at him, his eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Reach out to <em> Hozier</em>?”</p><p>“I mean, why not? If you have a piece… I can give it to our manager, he knows him.”</p><p>Hermione splutters her drink all around. “He knows <em> Hozier</em>?!”</p><p>“What the <em> fuck</em>, mate?!” Ron screams at the same time, while Neville’s eyes snap right out of his head. “You never told us!”</p><p>“I thought you knew!” Harry exclaims in his defence, somehow surprised by their shocked response. “He’s also <em> your </em> band manager, don’t you guys talk with him?”</p><p>“Oh my <em> God</em>, are you serious? Harry, if this is a joke…” Neville begins, in a tone way too menacing for his sweet-looking face.</p><p>“It’s not a joke, I’m dead serious,” Harry repeats, and, again: “<em>I thought you knew</em>!”</p><p>“Bloody hell, Harry, no, we didn’t!” Ron yells hysterically, before taking a breath. “How long?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know… a few years, I suppose…” Harry looks at Ginny looking for support but the redhead is laughing her heart out against Fred’s shoulder.</p><p>“A <em> few</em>– oh, God,” Ron says squeezing his eyes shut and massaging his temples. “No, I won’t even say the thing. Nope. As soon as we get back to London…” he begins, but George cuts him off.</p><p>“Yeah, you can all have your Hozier breakdown later on. You guys still need me at the drums? I might change my mind any second now,” the twin says, stepping towards the stage.</p><p>“Yes! Yes, absolutely,” says Harry, joining him immediately. “Draco, you’re with us?”</p><p>Draco opens his arms with a resigned sigh and stands up. “Right. Let’s do this.”</p><p>He takes a few steps until he clashes against Hermione, who slipped in front of him and is now looking at him with lively eyes.</p><p>“You play the guitar, Malfoy?”</p><p>He exhales deeply, his jaw setting, bracing himself.</p><p>“Yes, I play the guitar, Granger.”</p><p>“And Hozier,” she adds, her voice even except for a subtle hint of mischief.</p><p>Draco nods. “And Hozier.”</p><p>Hermione bites the inside of her mouth and her lips shift in an odd pose, so plump and full that Draco just wants to… </p><p>“Right,” she says, moving out of his way. “Can’t wait to lose my mind.”</p><p>He looks at her questiongly, before heading to the stage where the other boys are taking their positions: Neville with the bass, Ron at the piano, George sitting behind the drumset and Harry at the microphone. The first hands Draco the guitar and he puts the band across his shoulders, letting the instrument dangle slightly just to check if the length is good enough. His hand passes over the neck a couple of times to try the metallic strings, and his memory flashes Hermione doing the same with the violin. </p><p>His eyes search the room for her, but the light on stage is blinding so he can’t see a thing. He turns to Harry instead.</p><p>“You didn’t tell me what we’re playing.”</p><p>“<em>Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene</em>. Can you do the back vocals as well?”</p><p>“You want me to play <em> and </em> sing?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Draco sighs in resignation (again) and Harry pats him on the arm with a smile, before turning back to the mic.</p><p>“Missed us?” he asks, evoking a new applause and some scattered laughter. “We thought we might do a couple more things, since you’re all still here. So… we brought some more friends,” he gestures to the new additions. “That’s George Weasley at the drums, and this is Draco Malfoy at the guitar– who also has our t-shirt on because he’s a huge fan, isn’t he?” Draco and George welcome the cheers with a wave of their hands, and Harry keeps talking.</p><p>In the audience, Hermione is still scoffing incredulously while she chats with Ginny and Luna, eyes on Draco as he adjusts his grip on the guitar.</p><p>“Don’t be so surprised,” Theo tells her when he joins the girls. “The man was born destined to music.”</p><p>“I thought he stuck to the piano.”</p><p>“Well, we actually all had to take more than one instrument at the Academy. For example, I took piano, clarinet and harp.”</p><p>“<em>Harp</em>?” Ginny almost shouts. “God, I wanted to play the harp <em> so badly</em>.”</p><p>“I thought it suited my angel-like manners,” Theo says with a flirting smile.</p><p>“What did he take?” Hermione asks, never looking away from Draco.</p><p>“Piano, saxophone and viola.”</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>“I love the sax,” Luna chimes in, “it has a very full sound.”</p><p>“I agree. And he plays it beautifully, obviously. I hate him,” Theo comments resigned, drinking some more liquor from his glass. “But, when I say destined to music, I mean it. You’ll see it with the guitar, he’s flawless. He could play the bloody triangle and make it sound like the most beautiful thing ever.”</p><p>“Sounds like you’re jealous,” Blaise shouts from the nearby table he’s sitting at with Fred.</p><p>“I am, thank you, Zabini!”</p><p>Harry mutters something into the mic, and Hermione watches as Draco draws a deep breath and his long fingers press on the guitar strings. </p><p>He fills the t-shirt so well. The short sleeves stretch around his flexed muscles. Her eyes slide down his arm following the path of his visible veins, from the bicep right to the wrist and hand, where the bones almost cut through the skin as he spreads his fingers over the frets. </p><p>Draco strums the first chord once he gets closer to the microphone, humming gently against it.</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s not going to <em> sing</em>, is he?!” she exclaims in a whisper, while Ginny starts cheering as soon as she recognises one of her favourite songs.</p><p>Harry lets the band adjust to the rhythm for a few seconds before starting to sing, and the pace of the song picks up as soon as George starts hitting the toms of the drums, followed suit by Ron and Neville in augmenting the depth of the melody. </p><p>The crowd starts clapping along and Fred immediately stands up to take Luna to dance; she tries to back down, but, really, he tells her, this is her song: “Just listen to the chorus, it literally talks about you.”</p><p>When they do get to the chorus, Hermione’s breath catches once again because Draco does, in fact, start singing.</p><p>Theo watches her and sniggers, then puts his glass down to take her hand. “Come on, Granger. Let’s show him,” and he drags her behind Fred and Luna who got to the centre of the dance floor with Ginny and Blaise.</p><p>Hermione is still shockingly looking at Draco’s hands moving precisely and effortlessly on the strings like he’s never played anything else but the guitar his whole life. But she lets Theo guide her and make her swirl around following the strong rhythm of the song. Every now and then, her eyes go to the stage to look at Draco, who’s singing with his eyes fixed on the guitar frets and even bounces on his legs while playing.</p><p>As she passes from hand to hand, she misses the astonished look Harry is giving him. When the blond gets to the guitar solo and curves down on the instrument, loosely swinging his head around according to the melody and taking a few steps towards the centre of the stage, Hermione doesn’t notice Harry stepping closer to him with the microphone to make him sing the bridge of the song.</p><p>In her defence, Draco hasn’t noticed either, lost as he is in the music. When he does notice, he doesn’t bat an eyelid and starts singing, his voice full and deep, making her heart rise and fall with the curve of his tone. </p><p>Hermione is right in front of him now, and the small change in his position has made it possible for him to see the crowd despite the bright stage lights. When Hozier’s words come out of his mouth, his eyes flash and lock with hers, reaching depths that she didn’t even know existed in her, and everyone around her disappears. </p><p>It’s just the two of them, closer than they actually are, only a breath between them. </p><p>It’s like the day of the storm all over again.</p><p>
  <em> In leash-less confusion, I’ll wander the concrete </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wonder if better now having survived </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The jarring of judgement and reason’s defeat </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth, I’m alive </em>
</p><p>The microphone is taken away from Draco and Hermione is abruptly thrown back into reality. She pants, inexplicably, then looks around her to see that Harry has finished the song and she joins the rest of the crowd in their crashing applause.</p><p>“Fucking incredible,” Ginny is shouting over the noise, accompanied by Theo and Blaise’s loud bravo’s. </p><p>Hermione feels her mouth stretch in a massive grin when Draco shields his eyes from the light and finds her gaze; she directs her applause towards him and he beams at her, before turning towards Harry.</p><p>“He’s going to make him do another one,” Ginny says excitedly. </p><p>Hermione has no idea what to think at that, except that if she watches Draco Malfoy sing and play the guitar <em> again</em>, she won’t be able to keep her hands off of him for much longer. </p><p>“I swear I didn’t know Draco was this good,” Harry tells the crowd, causing it to erupt in a new applause. </p><p>Hermione finds her voice to yell a random “Yes!”, earning an amused look from her pianist.</p><p>“But, since he is,” Harry goes on, “let’s take advantage of him, shall we?”</p><p>Draco switches the electric guitar for an acoustic one and strums a couple of chords to check if it’s tuned, looking at Neville with a question in his eyes. The other blond nods and Draco turns back to Harry, who has grabbed another mic stand and has put it close to his front-stage.</p><p>Hermione curses silently when Draco closes his eyes waiting for George to start dictating the tempo with the drums, and then begins picking the guitar strings with fingers as light as feathers, shaping the melody of <em> Would That I</em>. When he starts singing the first verse, a very loud “Fuck me” escapes her lips, making everyone around her choke on their laughter.</p><p>Draco’s deep voice pitches higher to match the piercing sound of the guitar, contrasting with the low and reverberating music of the drums. It caresses her ears and it’s the same feeling as when he tangles his hands in her soft curls, or when his sun-kissed face turns to her when they’re walking side by side, or when his fingers slide across her waist over the light fabric of her summer dresses.</p><p>Harry sings the chorus, screaming the lyrics together with the rest of the pub as Draco’s hand forcefully strums the strings with short, strong shakes of his wrist, as he walks the stage. He slows the pace again to let Harry sing the second verse, and Hermione sees her friend search the crowd for Ginny when he gets to the lyric “<em>Fell in love with the fire long ago</em>”. </p><p>Draco walks to the microphone again when it’s his turn to deliver the chorus, and Hermione feels like she’s about to burst any second that she spends looking at him gripping on the guitar neck, one hand pressing the strings and the other strumming the core-shaking tempo.</p><p>With his powerful voice, he evokes the flames Hozier shaped and Hermione feels her heart burn with sudden desire, growing bigger and stronger with every new lyric pronounced. Flashes of the two of them reel across her mind with every new stroke of his hand against the strings, his fair skin cool under her touch, his neck...</p><p>“<em>I'm set alight</em>”, Draco sings, and she sees him sitting down on the piano stool for the first time in the middle of a random Italian square.</p><p>He sings, “<em>I blink inside your blinding light</em>”, and she sees the look on his face when she had just finished playing the violin at Ginny’s house.</p><p>He sings, “<em>You hold me tight</em>”, and he’s sleeping contentedly with his arms wrapped around her that same night in her bed. She had woken up right before dawn with some unsettling feeling tugging at the back of her head, but his steady presence, deep breaths and gentle grip calmed her down like nothing else ever could.</p><p>Draco sings, “<em>All the fire bright, let it blaze alright, honey</em>”, his eyes falling on her when he drags the last word out of his throat in a sudden low growl, and he’s pressing her against the outside wall of Ginny’s terrace, against the wet stone in the middle of the storm, against the wooden front door of his house and against the pillow of his couch; his hands are running all over her body, his lips tracing her skin, and his sweet tongue twisting up with hers before finding its way to the pulse of her neck.</p><p>Ginny shakes her out of her trance-like state when she grabs her wrist to make her spin, and Hermione has to take her eyes off of Draco to focus on her friends and dance with them, trying her best not to let his voice singing “<em>Hope that you’re good to me, baby</em>” make her drop everything and run up the stage to have him right there and then.</p><p>When Harry and Draco finish their performance, singing shoulder-to-shoulder into the same mic, the crowd blasts out into a deafening and earthshaking applause. Hermione is shouting too, as everyone’s palms crash one into the other in an incessant clapping that seems to never end. The boys on the stage are all smiling brightly as Harry makes a final roll call, giving each a moment to bask in their personal cheerings; then, Ron takes the mic from the singer to roar his name and make Harry collect his well-deserved ovation from the room.</p><p>As they climb down, Hermione tries to take a few steps in their direction but her way is obstructed by the many people running towards Harry, Ron and Neville. Not too bad, she thinks, because, really, her main goal right now is Draco. And maybe some back door. It would be a miracle if there was a back door.</p><p>She stretches her neck over the crowd, finally seeing his blond head not too far away. Unfortunately, he, too, is surrounded by people surely complimenting him on the performance. Squinting her eyes, she can see a dark-brown ponytail belonging to a very pretty girl whose hand moves around as she talks, dangerously close to her pianist’s very bare arm and clearly waiting for the appropriate moment to land on it. </p><p>Hermione is about to jostle through the sea of people to snatch him away, when a hand on her shoulder stops her. It’s Fred standing behind her, with a glass full of a colourful liquid in his hand.</p><p>“What is it?” It comes out slightly harsher than she intended.</p><p>“Someone’s tense! Dare I say, like a violin string?”</p><p>“Fred,” she warns him with a glare, then exhales loudly at his raised eyebrows. It’s taking everything in her not to leave her friend there, turn around and walk to <em> him</em>. If she could just have a moment alone with him, they could... </p><p>“You’ve got a secret admirer,” Fred holds the drink in front of her face in explanation and nods over his shoulder. “Come on, we’ll join the guys later, they won’t disappear.”</p><p>Ginny gasps at the exciting news, her palm already on Hermione’s back to push her away from the crowd and follow Fred to the table where Luna and the others are waiting for them. </p><p>“What’s this thing about you that puts everyone under a spell, ‘Mione?”</p><p>She <em>really</em> doesn’t want to do this right now. </p><p>Her stubborn friends guide her further and further away, though, until she finds herself at the counter telling the bartender to thank whoever it was who got her the drink. They end up speculating about the identity of the mysterious person. It’s Ginny’s favourite thing to do: every time it happens, the redhead analyses every person sitting close to the bar and tries to pinpoint the exact lady or gentleman who made sure the gift was delivered. Eighty percent of the times, she finds someone; one hundred percent of the times, her final word lands on the wrong person.</p><p>Finally, when the others join the conversation, Hermione snaps her head around to see if the distance separating her from Draco got shorter or less crowded.</p><p>That brunette is still talking to him. And she’s kind of starting to get on Hermione’s nerves. Is that her hand on his–</p><p>A mobile phone rings the moment she’s standing up to go to that one corner of the room. If looks could kill, the brunette would be somewhere else entirely right now. Hermione is about to storm through the remaining crowd, when someone catches her wrist.</p><p>“Okay, we’ll be right outside.”</p><p>She turns to find that Ginny is firmly holding her, beckoning to follow her.</p><p>No.</p><p>“Tuo papà?” Luna asks the younger girl. Ginny nods and turns to the group, hand wrapped around Hermione’s now.</p><p><em> No. </em> Not now.</p><p>“Us ladies, we’ve got a ride home because tomorrow we’re going to the seaside,” Ginny says excitedly as Luna kisses Blaise goodnight. “If you manage to talk to the boys, tell them we’re sorry we couldn’t stay longer. Or– well. I’ll text Harry anyway, so never mind,” she shrugs, already walking backwards towards the exit and taking Hermione with her.</p><p>She might cry. Or scream. Or both.</p><p>It might be enough for her friend but Hermione doesn’t want to just <em> text </em> Draco.</p><p>She has to do something. </p><p>“Can you give me just one moment? I’ll be super quick.”</p><p>“Hermione, you know that this whole area is restricted to traffic and my dad came here by car…” the redhead begins, without even needing her friend to specify what she needs the moment for.</p><p>“I know, I know,” Hermione nods quickly. “But I swear, it won’t take a minute.” She’s shamelessly begging but she couldn’t care less right now. “Please?”</p><p>Ginny sighs. “<em>Fine</em>. But you have to be <em> fast</em>.”</p><p>Hermione smacks a kiss on her forehead and spins on her heels, rapidly pacing towards Draco.</p><p>“Sorry– excuse me,” she mutters as she squeezes herself through the now smaller crowd, elbowing her way in. She meets Draco’s eyes when she’s behind the girl he’s <em>still </em>talking to, who promptly turns around to square her from head to toe when the conversation slips out of the boy’s mouth.</p><p>“Sorry, I just need a second,” Hermione apologises, giving her what she hopes is a genuine, albeit brief, smile.</p><p>As soon as the girl reluctantly steps aside, Hermione’s gaze is instantly drawn to Draco’s, as though they were two magnets just waiting to be in each other’s orbit to collide.</p><p>Suddenly, everything she’s wanted to say dies in her mouth.</p><p>Draco is looking at her, winter grey eyes boring into hers, and he’s the most beautiful man she’s ever seen.</p><p>His white-blond hair used to be perfectly combed the first times she met him, but one day he must have realised she can’t keep her hands out of it when kissing – or, well, any other moment really, which is quite bewildering in and on itself – so he just stopped trying to keep it in place. Which means now it falls messily on his forehead, even more so after his intense performance.</p><p>His skin is glowing with little drops of sweat under the bright yellow-ish lights of the bar, still incredibly pale but imperceptibly more tanned than three weeks ago. He might even have a couple of light freckles on his cheeks and Hermione almost whimpers at that discovery, but that’s something she doesn’t have the time to analyse right now.</p><p>Her exploration through his perfectly shaped face brings her to his cheeks. He shaved before going out tonight, because his skin looks incredibly soft and smooth, on his jaw, too, where it’s usually just a tiny bit scratchy. Hermione loves the sound of her nails running over it, and the tingling feeling it leaves under her fingertips when she passes them from his light stubble to his sharply defined cheekbones. In the oddly-angled light, they look like they could cut through the night like a knife.</p><p>Draco is sculpted into marble. Carved from the most rare and ancient stone into this living and breathing work of art.</p><p>What is Rome compared to him? Its territory, compared to the hills and valleys and roads that map his body? Its history, compared to the internal battles and dreams and wonders that the man in front of her has won and fulfilled and created?  </p><p>The eternal city’s ancient foundations don’t stand a chance of capturing her soul the way Draco’s mind and heart do. </p><p>The Romans might have conquered the then-known world, but what do they know about being conquered by Draco Malfoy.</p><p><em> They’re a rotten crowd. You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together</em>.</p><p>A small gasp escapes her lips when Hermione goes back to his eyes. His grey irises are almost completely black, his pupils dilated to better see in the dim place– or, dare she hopes, because of something else entirely. His gaze is piercing right through her, and all she can see is black. Black as the sea of long-lost pirate tales, and she’s drowning in it. </p><p>If she could think clearly, she’d berate herself. She knows not to trust the siren’s song. And yet, in three short weeks she’s let herself get closer and closer and now it’s too late.</p><p>She is enchanted by him. </p><p>It turns out, the witch was finally bested.</p><p>Unaware of the life-altering realisation happening right in front of him, Draco looks down at her, towering over her figure as always. Hermione searches the back of her mind for the lost words. She must say something, she must tell him.<em> He must know</em>. But her mind is a treacherous little thing, and she finds herself helplessly looking at him.</p><p>Her eyes, once again, dart over his figure, from the curve of his Adam’s apple to the visible collarbones under the hem of the t-shirt; from his broad shoulders, so secure and steady in the wilderness that is her life, down to his chest and taut arms and hands.</p><p>Hands that touch her, hold her, caress her, with fingers long and lean that like to play with her hair as though it was his favourite instrument, shaping the melody of a deathless song.</p><p>His <em>pianist </em> hands.</p><p>Finally, after what feels like an eternity, her gaze runs back to his and Hermione can’t say she’s surprised that his eyes haven’t strayed from hers. That’s when the words emerge suddenly from the depth of her heart, tingling her tongue as she opens her mouth to finally speak.</p><p>“I…”</p><p>Among the booming of her heartbeat in her ears, the noise of a foot being impatiently tapped against the floor makes its way to her brain and reality crashes heavily and abruptly back on her.</p><p>She blinks, and they’re not alone anymore.</p><p>The brunette clears her throat and addresses Draco. He doesn’t pay attention to her, though, he’s still looking at her. </p><p>Waiting. Giving her time.</p><p>Does he know? Does he feel the same? Is he burning for her, too, like she is for him?</p><p>Voices and noises and people surround them, and Draco is still waiting. Hoping...</p><p>Hoping? </p><p>Hermione opens her mouth and–</p><p>A foreign, perfectly manicured hand on his arm.</p><p><em> Not here. </em> </p><p>She wets her lips, wiping them clean of the sentence that was about to slip out. The sentence that would have changed everything.</p><p>
  <em> Not now. </em>
</p><p>Probably not ever. She already knows how the story ends.</p><p>“I’m going,” her voice is surprisingly steady, and the crestfallen twitch in Draco’s expression is so loud that she wants to throw herself at him and apologise, kissing away his disappointment, kissing away everything that isn’t <em> her</em>. “Ginny’s dad is here to pick us up.”</p><p>His jaw clenches. “So soon?”</p><p>Hermione swallows a lump that’s as heavy as lead and she would honestly love to bash her head against the nearest surface. “Yeah, we… we’re going to the seaside tomorrow. So we’re all going back home together.” </p><p><em> That doesn’t even answer his question</em>.</p><p>Draco nods, something flashing in his eyes but she can’t really say what. Her mind is reeling, she just wants to pause everything, take his hand and get out of here. She wants to take him to the Pincio terrace and scream at him, ‘See? This is nothing, compared to what <em> you </em> make me feel’.</p><p>“By the way, that was… that was <em> perfect</em>, it was magnificent. You were…” she gestures towards the stage. “You’re…”</p><p>She wants to scream at her brain to <em> work</em>, goddammit. She hates him for making her speechless– she’s Hermione <em> fucking </em> Granger. She never frets in anticipation of her face in a red flush, she never loses her mind when other people touch whoever it is that she’s having a fling with (<em>because that’s what it is</em>, a faint voice in her head tries, but it’s pretty much pointless because she knows it’s not <em> just </em> a fling). </p><p>She hates the feeling of everything around her moving in slow motion, she hates it when her blood rushes to her head and her vision doubles, she hates it so much that she just <em> acts </em> when she feels that it’s about to happen because she can’t bear leaving her mind on daydream mode, wondering about impossibly pure romantic scenarios that will never be real life and waiting for the crashing sound of flying bones into the ground. </p><p>She can quote encyclopedias and entire poems by heart, she can go on and on for hours on end about art, and history, and politics, and music– and <em> music</em>. She never shuts up. She’s never speechless.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>Draco scratches the back of his head, just like he did when he stood up from the piano the first time she ever heard him play.</p><p>“Thank you, Hermione.”</p><p>That’s the third time.</p><p>She <em> must </em> tell him.</p><p>“So, I guess I’ll go.”</p><p>
  <em>Stupid, stupid, stupid.</em>
</p><p>“Right,” he puts his hands in his pockets and she can see his arms tense. “Goodnight, then.” </p><p>He shifts his weight on his toes. Then, at Hermione’s hesitation, he turns towards the brunette still lingering to his side like a watchdog. The girl touches his arm again, says something in his ear, and finally loops her arm around his to guide him to her group of friends. </p><p>Hermione might be seeing things but she’s pretty sure the girl smirks over her shoulder as soon Draco turns his back to her. </p><p>A second passes, then another. She takes a deep breath and finally – <em> finally </em> – her body wins the fight with her brain and she finds herself stepping forward and reaching to his hand. Draco seems to have been waiting for that, because, as soon as they touch, he disentangles himself from the brunette’s grip and quickly turns around. </p><p>She catches a glimpse of his smile before he buries his face in her curls, arms wrapping around her. It’s a smile she hasn’t quite seen before, almost shy. But knowing.</p><p>Maybe he <em> does </em> know. </p><p>Hermione raises on her tiptoes and envelops him in a firm hug. It lasts just a few seconds but it’s enough to feel Draco’s body exhale in contentment. She smiles in the crook of his neck but it’s all too swift to quiet all the thoughts swirling messily in her head. </p><p>She feels Draco’s fingers reach the band of her top, his thumb stroking slightly right where it stops covering her skin. Her breath catches when she realises he’s grazing her ribcage right where her tattoo is.</p><p>Pulling away, she presses a soft kiss on his cheek. </p><p>“Goodnight,” it’s a whisper in his ear.</p><p>When she’s steady on her feet, Draco is biting his lip. She winks at him, then quickly turns around and runs out of the pub to meet Ginny and her dad, already coming up with the perfect apology in her mind.</p><p>She <em> is </em> Hermione Granger, after all. No matter how much Draco Malfoy makes her head spin.</p><p>(She can taste the mix of sweat and aftershave balm on her lips long after letting him go.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- The bit starting with <i>“You’ll come to Harry’s thing tonight, right?”</i> where Draco tucks Hermione’s curl behind her ear comes from this <a href="https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1355399300457635841?s=20">beautiful prompt by galacticidiots</a> that we saw on twitter, shoutout to her!<br/>
- <i>La favola bella, che ieri m’illuse, che oggi t’illude, o Ermione</i>: The lovely tale, that yesterday misled you, that today misleads me, oh Hermione. This quote is from a poem by Gabriele D’Annunzio called <i>La pioggia nel pineto</i> (Rain in the pine grove), 1902.<br/>
- <i>Tuo papà?</i>: Your dad?<br/>
- <i>They’re a rotten crowd. You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.<i> This quote comes from the absolute masterpiece that is <i>The Great Gatsby</i>; actually, if you’re familiar with it, you'll find a few quotes scattered throughout the fic (Valentina is in love with that book, it inspired her a lot while writing our story).</i></i></p><p>
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</p><p> - </p><p>Reminder that you can find the songs played in this chapter in the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HGyKt9sCCNTn7KAP5xibw?si=t67yYdpeRZauqsaANw9ZZg">fic playlist</a>!</p><p>One last thing before we let you go: we love to leave hints of future details and/or encounters here and there, for example, in the previous chapter there was a barely detectable allusion to Hermione’s tattoo (did you get it? Half-spoiler: it’s the scene where Draco is under the shower). So... perhaps you should look out for more.<br/>
(We said last but we lied) Question for you, our trusted readers: <b>who is the band manager?</b> [thinking emoji]</p><p>Kudos and comments (<a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a>) are always appreciated, see you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. καιρός</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Kairós</b></i> is a word related to the Greek word for time, <i>chronos</i>, but it is less a measure of the hours and years than the acknowledgement of one special moment in time. It is the idea of the ripe, perfect moment for action.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh gosh, a “perfect moment for action”??? And new tags? Yup, you guessed it: this is the <b>smut alert</b>.</p><p>This is a monster chapter, probably way too long, because we couldn’t break the action in two parts and then we really, <i>really</i> got carried away with the smut, which is <i>way</i> more explicit than chapter 5.<br/>As we previously did, we highlighted in <b>bold</b> the lines where the incriminated scene starts and ends. If you want to skip it, just scroll past it. We’ll tell you in the end notes if something relevant to the plot happened.</p><p>Have fun and see you at the end! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<hr/><p>The moment Draco finally sees her again after the longest three days of his life, it still burns on his skin where Hermione pressed her lips.</p><p>It burned while he watched her run out of the pub.</p><p>It burned while he kept talking to strangers and friends alike in the room.</p><p>It burned while he walked home with the boys in the pitch black night.</p><p>It burned while he undressed.</p><p>It burned while he showered.</p><p>It burned when he let his head sink into the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling and arms laying spread open on the mattress. It burned when his hand inched up to the shadow of her lips, pressing for a split second to try and imitate her touch before flinching away, pads scorched by the fire left on his skin.</p><p>It kept burning in his sleep, it burned the morning after and it felt like an intolerable blaze throughout the day, especially when his eyes would land on his phone and he was reminded that she wasn’t within arm’s reach.</p><p>He tapped on the black screen for the millionth time in the span of thirty minutes and groaned when he saw no new notifications. Then he cursed at himself because, well, what else did he expect? She was at the seaside with her friends, why would she spend her day texting him? Why should she think about him?</p><p>He’s just passing by like a comet in her sky. He’s not permanent in her life, and they both know it.</p><p>And yet, much to his own annoyance, his thumb acted as if he had no control over it, unlocking the phone and tapping on the Instagram icon. Draco found himself looking at Ginny’s story for a millisecond, before harshly shutting everything off and cursing at himself again.</p><p>What was happening to him? If there was one thing he had never, <em> ever </em> done, it was creeping on social media. That would have been a low point, an embarrassingly low point. </p><p>Besides, he had things to do, he didn’t even have time to act like a creepy social media stalker. There was helping Theo with his new piece, helping Blaise organise lunch with God-knows-who from God-knows-where, answering emails from a myriad of people and, last but definitely not least, finding the time to drop by those fancy shops in via Condotti to get whatever it was that his mother told him to get her. If he went back to London empty-handed, he’d never hear the end of it.</p><p>In just about a week’s time.</p><p>When he would have had to leave Hermione behind.</p><p>He kept staring at the wall in front of him as his hand reached back for his phone and unlocked it again, tapping once more on the screen to see the new photos Ginny uploaded. A voice in his head sneered at how pathetic he was, but Draco shoved it off to the very back of his brain and kept looking at the several shots of the sea on his screen until Hermione’s wild hair appeared and something fluttered in his chest.</p><p>Yeah, so what. He <em> was </em> pathetic, and now he was a social media creep, too. </p><p>He had been attached at her hip for the whole month, she turned his life upside down with her sharp mind, incredible energy and enchanting smile, and now he was about to lose her for God knows how long. </p><p>Forever, most likely. </p><p>Because that was the thing, there was no other way around it. And the sooner he came to terms with that, the better for everyone.</p><p>His flight for London was booked and paid for, and there was no spare room in his luggage for the feelings he had developed for the curly-haired violinist.</p><p>The sound of Hermione’s laughter coming from the video distracted him from his depressing thoughts, and he locked the phone. </p><p>(His cheek was still burning.)</p><p>At dinner, Blaise updated him on the Saturday lunch he was organising and asked him if he could make it, given that the host was a friend of Lucius, too. Draco made a face but grabbed his phone to check the calendar, and that’s when he was reminded of the charity gala he had to go to on behalf of his parents. Theo sniggered at the loud and miserable groan he emitted, but one look from the blond shut him up for the rest of the night. </p><p>Draco called his mother. They made small talk and he casually mentioned the gala, to see if she remembered about it or if he could be set free of that pain. As it turned out, not only Narcissa remembered about it, but she had actually called a couple of her friends to tell them that Draco himself was <em> excited to attend</em>. It took a great deal of effort for him not to curse out loud. He <em> did </em> love his mother. She was just a difficult person to reason with, sometimes. </p><p>A sigh reached his ears through the phone. “You forgot about it, didn’t you?”</p><p>“What?” he scoffed. “Of course not, I just…” he stammered, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “I just accidentally deleted the invitation email. Do you have it?”</p><p>Blaise gave him a stern look from across the table, as though <em> he </em> was the disappointed parent. How he could pull it off so perfectly, Draco didn’t know. </p><p>“You’re a Malfoy, you know they’ll let you in with just the name.”</p><p>“Sure, right, but, um… the, uh… the dress code?” He heard the <em> whoosh </em> sound of an email notification and Narcissa smiled through the phone. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Formal, you know the drill, sweetheart. And don’t forget about the present for me as well,” she added in her delicate voice.</p><p>“It’s hardly a present, mother, since you’re telling me what it is and where to get it.”</p><p>Narcissa shushed him and sent him a kiss goodbye, and Draco told her he loved her. He is a good son, after all.</p><p>Upon hanging up, he read the time and place of the event and inserted the info on his calendar. After dinner, he searched through his wardrobe to put together the most formal ensemble he could find. It was only after he had finished methodically choosing tie, shoes and cufflinks, that he went back to the email and read the small line in brackets under his name.</p><p>
  <em> Draco Lucius Malfoy </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (Guest is allowed a plus one) </em>
</p><p>His cheek burned again as his fingers immediately found their way to the chat with Hermione. He typed even though he kept shaking his head in self-deprecation.</p><p>
  <em> There’s this gala thing </em>
</p><p>He deleted.</p><p>
  <em> How was the seaside? </em>
</p><p>He deleted again.</p><p>
  <em> Hey, everything okay? </em>
</p><p>He deleted <em> again</em>, muttering something unmentionable. </p><p>
  <em> Don’t know how big you are on charity galas but  </em>
</p><p>Too long.</p><p>
  <em> Are you free on Sat </em>
</p><p>Too vague.</p><p>
  <em> I’m going to a charity thing for my mum on Saturday. Wanna come with? </em>
</p><p>His finger hesitated for a moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hit ‘send’ and tossed the phone away, falling heavily on the bed and rubbing his hands down his face. </p><p>His cheek burned like it had been touched by hellfire.</p><p>He woke up the next morning to Hermione’s reply.</p><p>
  <em> sorry i was knackered yesterday and i didn’t check my phone </em>
</p><p>
  <em> never been to one but would love to! can i let u know later on? something with luna’s dad might get in my way, i have a meeting w him today </em>
</p><p>Draco’s thoughts were still laced with sleep but the heat on his face had already started to pierce through them.</p><p>
  <em> Sure, no problem </em>
</p><p>He looked at the screen for a long moment, heart hammering in his chest.</p><p>
  <em> Is it for that thing you were saying about staying here? </em>
</p><p>His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button.</p><p>Delete.</p><p>
  <em> Fingers crossed! </em>
</p><p>The screen beeped with the notification of a kiss emoji.</p><p>Draco grunted and the phone fell on his face. He turned around and put his head under the pillow.</p><p>Now his eyes burned, too. With unshed tears. </p><p>The rest of the day was spent at the Conservatory listening to Theo yell at the piano and the piece he was still composing, a good distraction from the phone Draco had purposely left at the opposite corner of the room. Then, he dragged his friend through every high fashion boutique in Rome to find what his mother wanted, letting Theo’s whining go in one ear and out through the other.</p><p>It had been almost two days since Hermione left her mark on him, but the flaming sensation on his skin didn’t seem to vanish. She had looked like she was about to say something. To do something more…</p><p>He had desperately wanted her to do something more.</p><p>The moon was high up in the sky when his phone finally beeped from the living room, and Draco rushed to it so quickly that he overturned his chair and the water spilled out on the kitchen table when he carelessly dropped his glass. The mockery from his friends was just background noise as he quickly walked towards his bedroom clicking on the notification.   </p><p>
  <em> sorry sorry sorry i’m terribly late, zeno bonamore is incredibly chatty </em>
</p><p>
  <em> as i feared he asked me to go to this event in rieti tomorrow night so i can’t make it </em>
</p><p>A sad emoji concluded the message.</p><p>Right. He couldn’t say he was surprised. He had asked on too short notice, and again, Hermione had a life beyond him. This was an incredible opportunity for her and her future. Draco was truly, genuinely happy for her. </p><p>So it was fine. </p><p>His fingers were shaking slightly and his chest felt weirdly empty, but it was fine.</p><p>
  <em> i’m so so so so so sorry </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s going to be just a boring mundane thing anyway </em>
</p><p>
  <em> nothing’s boring or mundane with you </em>
</p><p>He stared at the message for a few seconds, trying to come up with something to say. Too bad texting wasn’t really his thing (yet another thing he cursed himself for), so he gave up after five minutes of starting and then deleting every word. </p><p>He quietly locked himself in his room to avoid pouring his bad mood on Blaise and Theo who were getting ready to go out, and slipped a piece of paper out from under the door for them. It had become kind of a thing between them, when there was something important to say but they didn’t want to or couldn’t say it out loud. As expected, they left him alone without making a fuss, and when he went to the kitchen an hour or so later to drink some water, there was a post-it on the fridge that almost made him cry. </p><p>After showering and getting into bed, Draco kept on looking at the ceiling until his eyelids closed against his will.</p><p>The burn on his cheek was most certainly going to scar.</p><p>The next morning, he had been awake for a couple of hours when a new notification made his phone screen light up.</p><p>
  <em> can i make up for it? brunch in 20? </em>
</p><p>He sighed, mostly pissed at himself than anything else. He had left her on read.</p><p>
  <em> Sorry, my phone died last night </em>
</p><p>He grimaced as he sent it.</p><p>
  <em> I can’t by the way, I have a lunch with Zabini and friends of our families </em>
</p><p>
  <em> oh okay sure </em>
</p><p>
  <em> will we manage to see each other before you leave? lol </em>
</p><p>He frowned at the ‘lol’. Why was she laughing? It wasn’t funny. Or maybe ‘lol’ had different meanings that he didn’t know about. But why would a word as simple and straightforward as ‘lol’ mean something different from its original meaning in a different scenario, and why would one use that word with a different meaning when they could simply use the word for the meaning they <em> actually </em> mean? </p><p>Draco felt a headache coming.   </p><p>
  <em> i’m free tomorrow morning </em>
</p><p>He sighed in relief.</p><p>
  <em> Same. I’ll be at your place at 10, Nott won’t need the scooter anyway </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i’ll be up before that </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know  </em>
</p><p>He and Blaise left shortly after when the car that was taking them to Castel Gandolfo arrived to pick them up. The day was bright and sunny, and, from the terrace of the elegant, ancient house they were welcomed in, they could see the Albano Lake, the Castelli Romani park, Rome herself and even the sea, if they squinted their eyes enough. </p><p>Draco’s hand was shaken several times and his shoulder was patted just as many, if not more. A couple of “that’s Lucius’ boy” and “Cissy and I were very close, back in the day” made their way to his ears throughout the day. The two boys were asked to play something together and the afternoon was wrapped up with a lovely applause.</p><p>He was about to climb back into the black Audi when he checked his phone, and froze with one hand on the door handle.</p><p>
  <em> event was rescheduled </em>
</p><p>
  <em> still need a +1? </em>
</p><p>His cheek instantly sparked up in flames, as fiercely as when Hermione had broken the contact three days before, and Draco felt his heart stop and then start hammering against his chest. He sent her a screenshot of the invitation with all the details, ignoring Blaise’s smug grin during the ride home.</p><p>-</p><p>The white taxi stops a few metres away and Draco gulps. His tie is too tight, his fingers are stressfully fiddling with his silver cufflinks, his teeth are grinding so hard that he feels like they could break, and that patch of skin right under the sharp cut of his cheekbone is blazing up like the Devil himself was dancing on it.</p><p>His arms go slack at his sides and his lips part in awe when Hermione steps out of the car.</p><p>She’s no different than what a goddess must look like.</p><p>Her hair is worn up, something extremely rare that Draco witnessed probably only two other times. The bun on the top of her head is embellished with a golden hairpin in the shape of long ivy branches twisting with each other. The meticulousness she put in styling it is counterbalanced by the fringe that falls messily on her forehead, along with a few rebellious locks that frame her face and bounce slightly on the crook of her neck, gently shadowing the emerald-green earrings that adorn her ear lobes. Two threads of golden strings unfurl on her collarbones, one just a little bit tighter than the other, their pendants gracefully resting on her breastbone.</p><p>The dress has a cowl neckline and its silk fabric clads Hermione like a second skin, stretching gently when it encounters one of her curves. Shoestring straps close with two small bows on her freckled shoulders, the gown falling on her figure like it was custom made for her body. Its deep, dark forest green plays with the moonlight and shimmers through every shade between sea green and emerald, even more so as she takes a few steps and her leg peeks daringly through the front split of the long, flowy hem dress. </p><p>She walks towards him and high heels click on the ground, feet stable in her lucid stiletto sandals, her lean calves flexing as she comes forth. Everything about how that split moves and swings it’s making Draco’s blood rush to every last corner of his body. </p><p>As she puts her phone in a small clutch bag, a sparkle catches a street light and his attention: a couple of rings shine on her fingers, golden like the pin in her hair. Finally, Hermione raises her head to meet his gaze. </p><p>Her lips are tinted with a natural shade of pink, all of her make-up work focusing on her gleaming eyes: her lashes are as black as the night and the combination of eyeshadow and eyeliner gives her a catlike look. The flicker he can see in her gaze must be the same that poets described when they talked about Athena. There’s glimmer highlighting her cheekbones and they lift up as she opens in a wide, beautiful smile when she sees the blond waiting for her.</p><p>Stopping in front of him, she gives him a smirk and a little bow.</p><p>“Mister Malfoy.”</p><p>Draco can’t speak.</p><p>The corner of her lips pulls further up. “Close your mouth, you don’t want to eat flies now, do you?”</p><p>“You look… you… you look…” he stutters.</p><p>Hermione is very evidently trying to keep her laugh secured in her stomach. He shakes his head and clears his throat in the hopes his brain will start functioning again.</p><p>“You look…” <em> Marvellous</em>. <em> Ravishing. Fascinating. Beguiling. Enchanting. Captivating. Mesmerising. Enthralling. Hypnotising. Bewitching. </em>“You look great.” </p><p>
  <em> What. An. Idiot. </em>
</p><p>“You look quite good yourself,” she grins and reaches out with one hand to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, just like she did at Ginny’s place that first night. </p><p>Her hand passes on his waistcoat, leisurely, and Draco holds his breath. Her warmth leaves his body right before touching the suspenders he’s wearing underneath. </p><p>“Shall we get going?”</p><p>His eyes can’t get enough of her, as though she’s the only thing in the entire world worth looking at, and it takes him more than a couple of heartbeats before realising that they have, in fact, a party to attend.</p><p>“Sure,” he mutters, twisting on his Italian leather oxfords and offering his arm to her. </p><p>They walk to the entrance of the chateau where two doormen in black suits ask for his name. As they let them through, Draco makes way for Hermione to go first and almost trips on his feet when his eyes land on her naked back. </p><p>The thin dress straps tie back with the gown over her hips, leaving her shoulder blades and most of her back bare. </p><p>The first thing his (apparently now regressed to teenage) brain focuses on, is the lack of a bra; the second, the two lines of ink on either side of her spine that form the outline of two small violin f-holes.</p><p>His adult brain short-circuits. </p><p>Covering the short distance between them, he miserably fails in holding his tongue. “You didn’t tell me you had another tattoo.”</p><p>Hermione turns to him, a bit puzzled. She’s taller now, thanks to the heels, but still not as tall as him.</p><p>“On your back,” he clarifies.</p><p>“Oh. I thought you already saw it,” she shrugs.</p><p>“You always wear your hair down.”</p><p>“I had it up when we slept together.”</p><p>A choking sound escapes his throat. </p><p>Trying to keep his breath even, Draco focuses on the issue at hand. He can’t believe himself. He’s been so whipped for this woman since day <em> one</em>, that he didn’t even see the very visible tattoo on her back when she was right there <em> in his arms</em>. But then he spent days obsessing over the possibility of a tattoo he had maybe seen a part of when they were making out and he was, for all intents and purposes, not thinking clearly.  </p><p>His treacherous mind shapes a very vivid image of Hermione in his bed, lying on her stomach, and him pressing his mouth to her back, kissing the two perfectly shaped holes; his hands running all over her body and she whimpers against his pillow, her fingers gripping the bed sheets and– </p><p>He forcefully squeezes his eyes shut.</p><p>It’s a <em> charity </em> gala, for Christ’s sake. He’s here on behalf of his <em> parents</em>. There could literally be no worse time for red-light thoughts than right now.</p><p>Entering the first covered courtyard, their eyes wander to the drapes hanging from the ceiling, the fountains carved into the walls, the flower arrangements on the tables. There are people everywhere, chatting, laughing and drinking, all of them looking as shiny as polished cutlery in their jewellery and haute couture ensembles.</p><p>“How old is your name again?” Hermione whispers, squeezing his arm. </p><p>He gives her a lopsided smirk. “Pretty old.”</p><p>She eloquently raises her eyebrows and is about to say what Draco is sure is a mocking remark about his upbringing, when she’s interrupted by a short old man approaching them. </p><p>His frame is large; so large, in fact, that the golden buttons of his luxurious waistcoat look threatening to burst. The man’s smile is similarly big: from under his walrus-like moustache, his lips stretch in a broad, unabashed grin as soon as he sees Hermione’s companion.</p><p>“Draco!” the man calls, making the blond turn as Hermione lets go of his arm.</p><p>“Professor, it’s so good to see you,” Draco smiles cordially, firmly shaking the man’s pudgy hand.</p><p>“Likewise, dear boy, likewise,” and it’s underlined with a few enthusiastic nods. “A pity that your mother couldn’t make it this year. How is she doing?”</p><p>“She’s great, thank you for asking. I heard from her just this morning, she wants me to give you her best wishes.”</p><p>Hermione is trying her best to hide the sniggering she feels just below the surface of her features. Not because he’s ridiculous– quite the opposite, actually: Draco is a <em> natural</em>. It's just so different from what she’s used to seeing him surrounded by and from the way he is with her and his friends. When they first met, she knew right away that he was a high society man born and bred, but she’s never actually seen him in <em> his </em> world. </p><p>It’s exhilarating to watch.</p><p>“You know,” the old man continues, addressing her, “Cissy was one of my best students when I used to teach in London. Played like an angel. Thank goodness she passed those genes to this young lad here, because if we had to rely exclusively on his father’s…” he pretends that a cold chill passed through his body and Draco chuckles, before gesturing towards Hermione.</p><p>“Professor, this is…” there’s an infinitesimal hesitation in his voice. “Hermione.” Four. “Hermione Granger.” Five. “This is professor Slughorn.”</p><p>“It’s a pleasure to be here,” she says, sticking her hand out to shake the man’s.</p><p>“What a beautiful name, Hermione…” Slughorn says, squinting his eyes as if trying to remember something. “It’s Greek, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes, sir, it was Helen’s daughter. My mum chose it, she has always been fascinated by classical culture.”</p><p>“Riveting stories, if you ask me. We still owe them a lot, don’t we?”</p><p>“We definitely do, sir,” she agrees with a graceful smile.</p><p>“And, tell me, do you study with Draco? In London?”</p><p>Both Draco and Hermione scoff; he bites his lower lip while she answers the curious look on the professor’s face.</p><p>“No, sir, we actually met here, um… through some friends.” That’s one way to put it. “I haven’t been in London for quite some time, now.”</p><p>Something stings in Draco’s chest but his smile never falters.</p><p>“Oh, I see! You study here, then?”</p><p>“I’m embarking on the lastest musical project by Zeno Bonamore, maybe you’ve heard of it…”</p><p>“Ah, yes!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Zeno has a wonderful eye– well, a wonderful <em> ear </em> for remarkable talents. Once, there was this absolutely brilliant oboist student who…”</p><p>“Horace, are you bothering this charming couple with your endless talks?” </p><p>It’s another elderly man who interrupts them. Tall and thin, crooked nose crowned with half-moon spectacles, and a bright and colourful suit that looks perfect for him even though no one in their right state of mind would have let someone over the age of twenty wear it. The aura of <em> auctoritas</em>, serenity and composure that the twinkle in his piercing blue eyes spreads around, combined with Draco instantly straightening his back as he hears the voice, makes Hermione sure, beyond every reasonable doubt, that the man is a mad genius.</p><p>“They’re hardly endless, Albus, since you always appear to put an <em> end </em> to them.”</p><p>“Mister Malfoy,” the funny-looking man ignores his friend’s remark and takes Draco’s hand in his instead. “I was hoping to find you some day at the Conservatory, but we didn’t have much luck, did we? I hope your parents are well.” </p><p>He has a pretty detectable Italian accent, but from the way he chooses his words and lets them roll out of his lips, hanging around in the air, it feels like he’s beyond the idea of time and space. It’s as though he’s from one place and nowhere at once. </p><p>“They are, sir, thank you. They both send their best regards,” Draco says, promptly shaking his hand, a tad of nervousness now peeking through his polite expression. He’s about to introduce Hermione but he’s stopped by one gracefully raised long finger. </p><p>“And you, young lady, are…?”</p><p>“Hermione Granger, sir,” she says, trying to pour all of her self-confidence in the handshake.</p><p>“Welcome, miss Granger,” he gives her a benevolent smile, before turning her hand in his. “String instrument?”</p><p>“Violin, sir.”</p><p>“Ah, the violin,” he says, letting her hand go. “Tricky instrument,” he comments, waving a wrinkled finger in front of his face. “One needs to know it to be able to speak its secret language. Its melody can bite, but it can also lull to sleep. Requires a deep understanding and an extremely delicate and considerate touch; but, once mastered, it can take you through the most incredible of journeys,” he concludes with a wink at Draco.</p><p>He finally turns to Slughorn, patting him on the shoulder. The bald man can just about reach his chin, and he grumbles before allowing his tall friend to lead him somewhere else.</p><p>“Off we go, now, Horace. There are plenty of other guests to bother around here.”</p><p>Watching the two men walk away, Hermione turns to Draco, frowning when she realises he looks quite shaken. “Are you okay? Who was that?”</p><p>He blinks at the two retreating figures before giving a firm shrug to his head and putting a hand on her back to guide her towards the buffet tables. </p><p>“That was Albus Silente, the Dean of the Conservatory of Rome and tonight’s host. He is the best pianist of his generation; actually, he’s the best among those you can call the best pianist of their generations.”</p><p>“Sounds like a wizard.”</p><p>“He is. He also directed countless orchestras around the world. Truly, one of the greatest musicians who has ever lived.”</p><p>“Is that why you were so stiff?” she asks as he offers her a glass of wine.</p><p>Draco makes a face and mumbles, “I wasn’t stiff.”</p><p>Hermione makes a noncommittal sound but decides to keep silent by putting some delicious food in her mouth.</p><p>-</p><p>The opera of voices pitches a key higher with every passing hour as the crowd of guests grows bigger. Draco and Hermione pass from the first courtyard to the second, where they sit at their assigned table to have dinner. He introduces her to their fellow diners and she makes small talk with everyone, an amiable smile on her face and elegantly passing from one subject to the other depending on her interlocutor’s interests.</p><p>Draco finds himself watching her, at times openly, other times from the corner of his eye. He keeps watching her when he walks to another table where some acquaintances of his are sitting to exchange cordial greetings. He looks at her chatting with complete strangers as if she had known them forever, throwing her head back while laughing and occasionally leaning in to listen to what older women want to whisper in her ear. She hardly ever looks back at him, but he doesn’t mind: he likes to see her stand out so graciously, as though she had belonged among the high society her whole life. </p><p>The conversation he’s listening to and casually chipping in every now and then dozes off in his ears as he finds himself staring at the two small swirls of ink on Hermione’s back. She stands up then, talking to someone Draco knows he should recognise but whose name doesn’t come to mind right now. No matter. The important thing is that, from that angle, he can almost see the other tattoo on her ribcage. </p><p>He knows he should excuse himself from the group before his behaviour can come across as rude, but his eyes are fixed on the curve of her spine and they drop down and down until her skin disappears under the waistband of her dress.</p><p>Hermione laughs in that moment, and the slight backward motion makes the fabric flutter and curve away from her body, revealing…</p><p>Draco realises he was drinking because he almost chokes on red wine. </p><p>“Mate, are you okay?” someone asks patting his back, to which he answers that he’s fine, nothing to worry about, it must be his liver telling him he’s not that young anymore and should go easy on liquor. </p><p>They share a laugh and he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, splashing ice-cold water on his face before the door clicks shut behind him. Holding himself on the white ceramic of the sink, he looks at his reflection in the mirror without seeing it.</p><p>She’s wearing black lace lingerie.</p><p>His knuckles turn white and he groans loudly, trying once again to remind himself <em> where </em> he is and <em> who </em> he’s surrounded by. He splashes some more water on his burning face.</p><p><em> Jesus. </em> Black lingerie with two slim straps going right over her hips, and the two places they’re connected to must be–</p><p>If only he could take the ice bucket that’s right next to their table to pour its content all over his body and stop himself from thinking <em> things</em>.</p><p>He looks at his reflection again, and the man in the mirror eyes him like he’s ready to choke the life out of him. Finally, Draco clears his throat; he takes a deep breath, grabs a few paper towels to dry himself, and adjusts his shirt, straightening the tie and ironing with his hands imaginary wrinkles on his sleeves, before he decidedly walks back out.</p><p>Hermione is sitting at their table. He quickly slips on his seat next to her, a hand sneaking around her waist (the <em> upper </em> part of her waist) and his lips pressing lightly to her temple. He’s forced to let her go when the second course is served, and only then a realisation strikes him: he hasn’t kissed her yet tonight.</p><p>Actually, he hasn’t kissed her in four days now.</p><p>Hasn’t kissed her properly, that is.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything about his gesture, though, focused as she is on the splashes of water on his shirt. “Everything all right?”</p><p>“Yeah, all good. You? Having fun?” he asks, swiftly trying to shift her attention away from his face, still a bit flushed.</p><p>“Oh, yes!” she grins, turning to the plate in front of her. “I thought I would feel out of my element but this is actually all quite entertaining. You know, I spoke to this woman who…”</p><p>“Well, well, well,” says a feminine voice, soothing and melodious. Draco freezes and Hermione’s words die in her mouth. “If it isn’t Draco Malfoy.”</p><p>There’s a gorgeous, unfairly attractive young woman standing right behind them. Tall, lean, long black hair falling down on her side, clad in the sparkling blue fabric of her figure-fitting, one shoulder dress. She looks like a Vogue model.</p><p>And she is looking at Draco with a feral smile as her long, perfectly curated fingernails graze his shirt right on the seam of his sleeve, after she let her hand slip leisurely from arm to shoulder.</p><p>His eyes widen as he stands up to hug her. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same.”</p><p>“I had no idea you were in Rome.”</p><p>“I’m not actually staying in the city. We’re spending the summer a bit everywhere in Italy, but we were specifically asked to come here for the gala tonight, so… here we are,” she purrs.</p><p>“We?”</p><p>“Oh, Daphne is here, too. Just outside on the terrace. Care to join us?”</p><p>“Sure, I…” He blinks, and it feels as though he suddenly remembers Hermione is there with him. </p><p>Judging by her set jaw and how she’s picking at the food in her plate, this random encounter isn’t exactly pleasing her, even though her lips are curled up in a smile. He’s pretty sure he can tell which smile she’s faking by now. </p><p>He gently puts a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry. Um… this is Gr–”</p><p>“God forbid he ever used a first name,” the woman interrupts with a short, crystal laugh, as Hermione stands up to shake her delicate-looking hand. “I’m Astoria. G, r, as in Greengrass.”</p><p>Draco bites his tongue.</p><p>Hermione doesn’t bat an eyelid. </p><p>“Hermione. G, r, as in Granger.”</p><p>
  <em> G, r, as in God rescue me. </em>
</p><p>They grip on each other’s hand for a second too long as Hermione’s proud gaze scintillates against Astoria’s sly one, that twitches almost imperceptibly at her retort.</p><p>You could cut the tension with a knife.</p><p>Draco gulps. “Shall we go?” his voice is just a little bit higher than normal. </p><p>The two ladies drop their hands and he quickly puts himself between them as they walk to the terrace.</p><p>The night outside is cloudless and dark enough that they can see the sky flickering beautifully with stars. Draco greets several other guests and introduces Hermione to them; he loses sight of her when a group of French find out she’s fluent in their language and steal her away, but he doesn’t even have time to think about that because Astoria has already made her way to him and starts rubbing her hand on his arm, inquisitive smile on her features.</p><p>“So? Did you come all this way to fall in love?”</p><p>He scoffs, but the fingers of his left hand seem to have a mind on their own when they clench in a fist. </p><p>“I’m on holiday.”</p><p>Astoria keeps smiling, indecipherable emotions flashing in her eyes until her hand reaches his wrist and her claw-like fingers tap against his cufflinks.</p><p>“I like that you’re not denying nor confirming it,” she says, before letting him go and twisting on herself to lean her weight on her elbows resting on the parapet of the terrace, gracefully cupping her face with both her hands. Her hair falls on the side, leaving Draco the chance to let his gaze dance on the slender curve of her neck and down to her body, as slim and fit as ever.</p><p>He promptly chastises himself and urges his brain to drive his eyes away. She notices the stress in his hands, his fingers quickly twisting together, but she doesn’t comment on it.</p><p>“How is your father?”</p><p>He looks at her sideways. “Why do you care?”</p><p>She shrugs. “I talked to my dad a couple of days ago and he mentioned something about Lucius, so he popped in my mind.” She points at him with her chin. “The older you get, the more you look like him, did you know that?”</p><p>“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t apologise.</p><p>Not that she cares. On the contrary, it’s Astoria’s favourite hobby to ruin Draco’s mood.</p><p>She had found out that he’s particularly good in bed, afterwards. She likes it a bit rough.</p><p>“Anyway, he was saying something about Christmas holidays and Switzerland… can you ski?” </p><p>“We spent the winter holidays together in the mountains more than once, Astoria.”</p><p>“Yes, and we hardly skied.”</p><p>He exhales heavily. “Are you out for blood tonight?”</p><p>“Maybe,” she says with a mischievous expression that he knows all too well. “I didn’t know you were here, truly, but this has been an interesting turn of events.”</p><p>“Well, then let me remind you about the very public place you are in, right now.”</p><p>“And let <em> me </em> remind <em> you </em> that this has never been an issue for you, before,” she retorts, straightening her back and taking a sip from her glass. “It looks like old age is messing with your memories, Draco. You still remember Berlin… what was it? 2012?”</p><p>He remembers Berlin 2012. And he remembers a whole lot of other places as well. Draco and Astoria have known each other for longer than he can remember, given how both their fathers were long-time friends. They never particularly liked each other though. They grew up tolerating the other’s presence at dinners and they never had a playdate; both kids would just end up crying their hearts out when left for too much time alone together. But then puberty kicked in, and Astoria went from a cute kid to a stunning young woman, and, one day, Draco found himself looking at her differently. Not better nor worse than before: just differently. And things really set off a couple years later when he realised that she, too, was looking at him differently.</p><p>It’s always been Lucius and René’s not-so-hidden plan to get their kids to marry and to tie the families together for good, but neither Draco or Astoria ever gave their parents a flicker of hope. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t slam each other against the nearest flat surface every time they had the chance and felt the impulse become unbearable. They came to a no-strings-attached arrangement, providing each other the sexual satisfaction they both craved. If their families suspected it, they never said a word about it. They just kept planning trips together, carefully organising them so that kids and adults could each have their own spaces. So maybe they did know, after all.</p><p>Draco tried to put an end to it two years ago, aware that he didn’t have any feelings for the brunette and never would. They were growing up and they should have stopped playing, he reasoned. He actually gave her a beautiful speech and Astoria agreed with him on almost all the points he made. But then their truce crumbled down one, two, three, four times, and they found themselves back to square one. Therefore, a decision was made to only see each other in public and more controlled situations, just so that neither of them could easily give into their worst instincts.</p><p>“2012 was eight years ago,” he tells her, turning away from her alluring eyes to look at the city in front of him, enveloped by the warm night.</p><p>“You know I’m the nostalgic type.”</p><p>With a deep sigh, Draco looks at her and this time he can’t help but let his eyes dip to the creamy skin of her breastbone, left uncovered by the bold neckline of her dress.</p><p>“We already had this conversation. Multiple times,” he says when his gaze is back on her face. Her regal features look like they were taken straight out of a Renaissance painting.</p><p>“I’m willing to have it one more time.”</p><p>“It’s not going to happen.”</p><p>Astoria gives him a blinding smile. “So you <em> did</em>,” she exclaims triumphantly, before spinning around and heading back inside.</p><p>Bewildered, Draco stares at her retreating back, then calls out for her. “Did what?”</p><p>She looks at him over her bare shoulder. “Come all this way to fall in love.”</p><p>-</p><p>The rest of the night passes in a blur. They eat, they drink and they chat; Draco introduces Hermione to more people than she can remember and at some point they move to the open back courtyard where there’s a small stage and some chairs for the guests. Waiters go around serving drinks while Silente gives a speech – a type of speech that makes Hermione sure that the man is definitely mad, even though Draco reassures her by confirming that, yes, he’s mad, but he’s a genius as well. As soon as the speech is over, some elegantly dressed people make room for a small orchestra that delights the crowd with a concerto.</p><p>After that, champagne and dessert are served and they go back to the dinner hall to find it rearranged to leave a large empty space in the middle of it for dancing. Silente is courted by several people asking him to play something on the piano, but he turns down their requests, taking instead an older woman in his arms to open up the dances. </p><p>Hermione teases Draco telling him that he should go sit on the stool instead; he looks at her in silence for a few seconds, then shuts her up mid-sentence by brushing his hand on her bare skin, just over the curve of her lower back, thumb resting on her spine, and takes her to the dance floor. She tells him that she’s not much for dancing but he replies with a smile and a whispered “Just follow me”. He makes her twirl and spin and fly around the room, and the grin painted across her features is so pure and beautiful that he can feel his heart swell with unalloyed happiness.</p><p>It’s almost midnight when he catches her trying to hide a yawn. They’re talking with some professors from the Paris Conservatory and he feels her leaning against his side for a moment before standing straight back. He promptly excuses them and starts saying his goodbyes, taking her hand as they keep being intercepted by people on their way out. She complains, telling him that it’s fine and they can stay longer, but the sound of her voice betrays her sleepiness.</p><p>“You’re pouting,” he tells her as they wait outside for their taxi to arrive. The air cooled down a bit so she’s wearing his suit jacket over her shoulders.</p><p>“‘m not,” she mutters, frowning as she tries to open her clutch bag.</p><p>“Here,” he gently takes it from her hands and opens it.</p><p>“Thanks.” She grabs her smartphone, squinting at the bright screen as it blinds her. “Oh, God,” she says, putting it back in her clutch without even unlocking it, “that champagne was too good.”</p><p>Draco snorts. “You don’t want to know how much it costs. You didn’t have too much, did you?”</p><p>“What? No.” Hermione pats her stomach, wiggling her eyebrows. “This is made of iron. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”</p><p>He chuckles, shaking his head.</p><p>“You don’t believe me?”</p><p>“You just look a bit…” he starts, pointing at her face. “You’re still pouting.”</p><p>“I’m not pouting,” she sighs, “this is my all-drink-no-fun face.”</p><p>He bites back the double entendre, concerned by the possibility that she might not have had a good time tonight. “You didn’t have fun?”</p><p>She theatrically gestures to the chateau behind them. “You just took me away from the fun.”</p><p>Relieved that she <em> did </em> enjoy the soirée, he points out the obvious: “You were yawning”.</p><p>“Yes, but,” she begins, before quickly covering her mouth when it opens in a broad yawn. He laughs, earning a slap from her with her clutch bag. “Stop it. It always happens when someone mentions the word.”</p><p>The taxi arrives and Draco opens the door for her, waiting for her to sit before circling the car to take his spot on the backseat next to her and giving directions for Hermione’s place.</p><p>She looks at him, eyebrows pinched together. “You speak Italian.”</p><p>“Never noticed?”  </p><p>With her head tilted to the side, blinking the drowsiness away, she’s annoyingly cute. Humming, she leans her head back on the headrest and cocoons herself in his suit jacket. </p><p>They drive in silence for a minute, before she speaks again. “This is some high-end professional shi… thing,” she says, hand rubbing the fabric of the borrowed piece of clothes. Then frowns. “Sorry. I don’t want to call your super expensive clothes shit. ‘Cos they’re not.”</p><p>“You’re a bit tipsy, aren’t you?” he bites his bottom lip to rein in a smirk, but Hermione still groans and rolls her eyes.</p><p>“Seriously, Malfoy? You sound like my mum,” she crosses her arms in a huff. “I can’t even compliment your clothing now?”</p><p>“No, by all means, Granger,” he tells her, relaxing back in his seat. “Go ahead.”</p><p>She glares at him, then sighs loudly and gestures to his figure, raising her eyebrows without saying a word. He clears his throat to hold back a laugh.</p><p>“I like your… your…” she starts, but it’s mostly dark outside and in the cabin so she can’t really see his clothes, and she’s struggling to remember <em> exactly </em> what he’s wearing. So maybe she <em> is </em> a tiny bit tipsy. However, the streetlights reflect their colours on his white-blond hair, which she can see clearly. They look carefully tousled and soft. “I like your shoes.”</p><p>Draco sniggers under his breath, “Thank you! It’s authentic Italian leather.”</p><p>She grimaces. “I like them a bit less, now.”</p><p>“I can take them off,” he says immediately, reaching for the shoelaces.</p><p>“Shut up,” she laughs and pushes lightly on his arm. “And, by the way, you drank more than I did. So.”</p><p>“So?” </p><p>“So,” she repeats with a nod.</p><p>“So,” he says, dragging out the vocal, “I think my liver is just a bit tougher than yours.”</p><p>Hermione sticks her tongue out and sinks into her seat.</p><p>“So!” she repeats after a few minutes pitching her tone a key higher, the sound of her hands clapping startles him. “Astoria is really beautiful.”</p><p>His eyes land on her. The streetlights cut through the car windows in a weird way, playing with the jewellery in her hair and around her neck, whose curve begs to be touched.</p><p>“She is,” Draco agrees, not really sure where she’s going with this.</p><p>“Breathtakingly stunning. I’ve rarely seen women as gorgeous as her,” she continues, gaze fixed in front of her.</p><p>He makes a noncommittal sound.</p><p>“You can’t possibly disagree,” she scoffs before looking back at him.</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“Were you two together?” she asks after a moment. Her tone is not sharp or harsh per se, but he still feels it down his spine.</p><p>Holding her gaze, he tells her the truth: “Not exactly”.</p><p>He has no idea how she can pull it off, but Hermione smiles and he can swear it’s the most frightening thing he’s ever seen.</p><p>“So it was just sex?”</p><p>He gulps, mouth suddenly dry. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”</p><p>“So it was just sex,” she nods, and her head tilts to the side.</p><p>After considering his words carefully, he says slowly, “Are you jealous, Granger?”</p><p>“Who, me?” she exclaims, theatrically gesturing to herself. “Um, yeah! Of her iron-like abs.” Draco snorts. “Don’t think too much of yourself, Malfoy,” she tells him, patting him on the shoulder.</p><p>“What’s with all this surname-calling?”</p><p>“Ah, yes, dodge the bullet, that’s right,” Hermione sniffs and crosses her legs. “So,” she adds after a while, apparently intent on pressing the matter for as long as she can, “was sex with her worse than a maritozzo?” </p><p>He bursts into a surprised and genuine laughter. This woman… She might never admit it, but she’s clearly burning up with jealousy. And he is very much <em> not </em> complaining about it. </p><p>Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to tease her more because the taxi stops in front of her building. As she reaches for the door handle, Draco leans over the front seat to give directions to his place, which makes Hermione stop with one foot already out on the street.</p><p>“What are you doing?” </p><p>“Going home?” he answers, confused. What else should he be doing?</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because it’s late?” he speaks slowly, puzzled by her questions.</p><p>A beat. </p><p>Then, “You can stay here”.</p><p>He blinks.</p><p>“There’s no point in paying for another trip,” she shrugs. She’s going for a matter-of-factly tone, but the fact that she can’t really meet Draco’s eyes is probably giving her true feelings away.</p><p>Unaware of Hermione’s apprehension, he starts objecting, stuttering a few words, but she collects her courage and looks at him determinedly. “I insist. Come on, let’s go,” and she closes the car door behind her.</p><p>He gets out of the taxi after having paid for their ride and joins her at the main door, where she’s fumbling with the keys. “I’ll give you the money once we’re upstairs, I forgot my wallet,” she says, pushing the door open with her shoulder.</p><p>He nods but doesn’t say anything, his stomach knotted up and his hands clammy. He follows her inside, trying to clear his thoughts and to give a name to every twist and twirl that’s happening in his chest at once.</p><p>The elevator is broken so they take the stairs, and it doesn’t take long before Hermione starts filling the sudden awkward silence with random comments about their night. She takes off her heels when they’re halfway through, holding herself against him. He has to make sure she doesn’t lose her balance a couple of times, but keeps quiet otherwise, hoping his nervousness doesn’t show too much.</p><p>“I think you’ll have to carry me, Malfoy,” she giggles, giving him her best damsel in distress look and making him chuckle.</p><p>“All you need to do is ask,” he says, but Hermione has already surged forward in the opposite direction and is running up the staircase screaming something about the last one arriving at the door being the second to shower.</p><p>“You know, I spoke to this bloke who says he can compose an entire original piece in less than five minutes,” she informs him as she enters her flat, Draco just a few steps behind.</p><p>“Impressive,” he follows her in and closes the front door behind him. Something shifts in him upon hearing the click of the lock, but he breathes through it: he has everything under control.</p><p>“That’s what I said,” Hermione exclaims, laying his suit jacket over a nearby chair and heading to the piano. “But then he kept going on and on and on, and his boasting irritated me <em> so </em> much that… I told him a lie,” she whispers the end, almost as if revealing a dirty secret.</p><p>Draco rolls with it and gasps. “You didn’t! What did you say?”</p><p>“I told him that I once composed a piece for piano and violin in less than eight minutes,” she chirps, grabbing her violin from its case. “Huge lie. It takes me ages to compose the shortest thing.”</p><p>He shakes his head at her, smiling. “So what are you doing with that, now?” he asks, pointing at the instrument with his chin. </p><p>“I’m composing the piece. He wants to listen to it.”</p><p>He almost doubles over from the force of his laughter. “He actually believed you?”</p><p>“Of course he believed me! I think the fact that eight is still more time than five stroked his man-ego enough that he could give me this.” She actually starts tuning the instrument.</p><p>“Hermione, do you have any idea what time it is?”</p><p>(Six.)</p><p>She looks at him for a long moment, eyes as intense as raging fire, and then she starts playing. The notes come out gracefully, if a bit hesitant; she stops abruptly, making the strings shriek, when Draco leans back against the wall.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Watching you.”</p><p>Hermione rolls her eyes. “I said it’s a <em> piano</em>-violin piece. C’mere,” she tells him pointing at the piano stool with the bow.</p><p>He shakes his head but walks to the piano and sits down. “Key?”</p><p>“Just follow my lead,” and she resumes playing. </p><p>He tries to hit a few notes that he thinks can match the melody, but she isn’t on the same page apparently and stops again, huffing.</p><p>“You’re making a fool of yourself.”</p><p>“Those are big words, Granger.”</p><p>“I feel like this isn’t what you want to be doing,” she whines, putting the violin down.</p><p>He snorts. “No kidding, Sherlock.”</p><p>“No, you don’t understand. I have a superpower.” </p><p>He sniggers when Hermione puts her palm against his forehead, eyes closed and eyebrows pinched in concentration.</p><p>“I can feel that you want… you want…” Her shiny eyes flutter open. Without her heels and with him sitting down, he’s at her chest-level. “To take a shower.”</p><p>“Oh, my, you’re really great at this,” he mocks her, trying to grab her wrist, but she slaps his hand away with her free one.</p><p>“I’m not done. You want… tea. No, wait! Chocolate. No, I think you want…”</p><p>While she keeps ranting, Draco’s gaze drops to her dress, dawdling on the creases of the silk fabric created by the shape of her body. She adjusts her stance as she goes on with her game, making her side tattoo visible to his greedy eyes.</p><p>The violin on her ribcage is moving following the rhythm of her breathing. The thin line of ink curving up and down and twirling on itself zooms in and out in front of him. It’s hypnotising.</p><p>His voice is low when he asks, “Why two violin-related tattoos?” </p><p>“I got the first one on my back when I was barely eighteen to disobey my parents and then the second one on my side when I dropped out of law school,” she tells him nonchalantly, as though these facts aren’t worth knowing, as though he’s not thirsty for every little detail that concerns her. As though he’s not been hanging off her words since the very first day. “Now shut up, I’m trying to read your mind.”</p><p>Draco feels his heartbeat grow stronger and louder the longer he looks at the drawing on her skin. He can sense his blood running through his veins and heating up every far end of his body. Every moment they shared, every smile she gave him, every touch she gifted him, it’s all playing in his mind so vividly that he feels like he’s plummeting with no parachute.</p><p>He’s falling and falling and falling and then–</p><p>He lands, and everything is clear.</p><p>A hoarse whisper is all he can manage when he speaks next. “You know what I want to do?” He can’t move his eyes from that one patch of skin.</p><p>“Yes, I’m about to say it, you want to–”</p><p>“I want to pull you closer to me and trace your body with my lips. I want to touch you the same way your dress is touching you, I want to slip it off of you and taste your curves and feel your shapes under me, feel them under my palms, my fingers, my mouth. I want to bury my hands in your perfectly styled hair and untie it, let it fall down your shoulders and back and let it tickle me as I run my fingertips over your spine and you breathe into my mouth. I want to feel your skin against mine and I want to know how the mattress feels like when your naked body presses mine against it. </p><p>“And then I want to kiss you. Everywhere. For hours. Your hips, your belly, your thighs, I want my nose to sink into every dip and crevice while I move over you and I want you to kiss and bite my lips and my neck as your nails dig into my back until you leave scratches. I want to feel your hands tangle in my hair and your fingers twist it and tug until it hurts,” someone gasps but he’s not sure which one of them. “I want to draw the shape of your tattoos with my tongue and then sink it into your–”</p><p>A trembling hand slips down his face, gripping his upper neck and gently squeezing under his jaw, effectively stopping him and making him look up. Panting, Draco blinks away the haze but he’s still not ready for the sight he finds in front of him.</p><p>Breathless and with lips parted in shock, multitudes of emotions flash in the eyes of the woman towering over him. Like a blow to the middle of his chest, their intensity makes his breath catch. </p><p>Let it be known, how Hermione Granger puts the Nymphs to shame.</p><p>Draco is mystified.</p><p>Cold rings press deliciously against his incandescent skin making him shiver, and then her mouth crashes against his.</p><p>It’s hard and hesitant at the same time. It’s tender and deep and electrifying and overwhelming like simple kisses shouldn’t be. But this is no simple kiss.</p><p>This is the kind of kiss that brings countries to war and families to duel and kill.</p><p>This is Helen and Paris’ kiss; it’s Romeo daring to touch Juliet’s lips, it’s Paolo falling in love with Francesca.</p><p>It’s the kiss that seals fate, dooming you to the most tragic of ends.   </p><p>And yet, the decision is made for him the moment Hermione sits on his lap and her tongue requests access to his mouth. </p><p>Let him burn in hell, if that’s what this is all about.</p><p>Moaning against her lips, he grants her request and his arms wrap around her figure, bringing her flush against him and spreading his fingers over her naked back. Gripping his hair, Hermione sighs into his mouth which makes Draco tighten his hold on her and squeeze.</p><p>He wants her close. Closer and closer until there’s nothing between them. She whimpers and bites his lower lip, making him growl and pull away slightly. Barely a minute has passed and yet their chests are moving quickly against each other, he can feel her gasping breath on his cheek.</p><p>Leaning in until his forehead touches hers, Draco closes his eyes. He lets the scent of her delicate perfume envelop him, the warmth of her skin soothe his senses, the softness of her loose curls tickle his face pleasantly. </p><p>She nuzzles his nose and when he smiles but doesn’t open his eyes, she starts peppering kisses all over his face making him huff a laugh.</p><p>“Eager, aren’t you, Granger?” he tilts his head back to let her have her way down his neck. </p><p>“You stopped,” she whines.</p><p>“I was savouring the moment… <em> fuck</em>.”</p><p>She kisses the skin where she just bit him. “That’s what I want to do.”</p><p>“All you needed was ask,” he moans as she sucks on his jawbone.</p><p>“Weren’t you the one who said, very dramatically may I add, that you wanted to sink your tongue in my– mph…” He shuts her up as he takes her face in his hands and kisses her like he’s been dying to since that night at the pub.</p><p>It’s hard and rough and their teeth clash, but she growls and it’s the best fucking sound he’s ever heard. </p><p><strong>Hermione starts grinding against him</strong>, making him moan and dig his fingers into her waist. Her hand is still firmly placed under his chin, thumb and index right under the sharp cut of his jawbone. Her mouth is avid, her breathing accelerating again. </p><p>When his fingers reach the waistband of her dress and start grazing her skin by tracing the hem of the fabric, she whimpers and then bites him as if to tell him to hurry up. Her palm presses against his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob when he groans.</p><p>Suddenly she stops, her body stiffening. Draco is not sure why but when he opens his eyes, hers are wide in concern, as though she did something she shouldn’t have, and she’s not touching him anymore. </p><p>“Sorry, I-I don’t… Did I hurt you? I’m sorry…” she stutters, closing her hand in a fist in the space between them. </p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>Slowly, he takes her hand in his and places it on his collarbone, close to where it was a moment ago but with just her fingertips grazing his throat. His other hand cups the nape of her neck and he captures her lips with his, giving her time to let go of the tension that took hold of her body.</p><p>“You didn’t hurt me, Granger,” his words make his throat vibrate under Hermione’s now delicate and ghost-like touch. “This is perfect,” he tells her, a low rumble in her mouth, and she tentatively splays her fingers along the length of his throat, feeling the pointy end of his Adam’s apple against her palm. </p><p>Their kiss turns into a languid, lust-driven stroke of lips against lips and tongue against tongue, before she pulls away one last time.</p><p>“This is perfect?” her small voice is in contrast with the way she’s hungrily looking at him. Her touch, too, gets bolder: palm still firmly placed on his throat, she tilts his head backwards with her free hand and traces the sharp edge of his jawbone with her tongue. </p><p>When she nuzzles her nose at the base of his neck, the scent of his cologne intoxicates her, making her grip on him strengthen.</p><p>“Yeah,” Draco exhales, one hand now clenching on her hips as the other strokes her leg, massaging her thigh and inching its way under the split of her dress.</p><p>Her next words make him falter in his movements though. </p><p>“You like me touching your neck, Malfoy? Squeezing?” she purrs in his ear, her teeth pulling his lobe and sending shudders of pleasure through his body. He hums, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Hermione runs her tongue down to his pulse point, sucking on it. “You said you wanted me to leave marks on you, didn’t you?”</p><p>This is new to him. This craving, this need of letting Hermione do whatever she wants to him. She unlocked something so deep in him he didn’t even know existed, unveiled his primal source of pleasure. </p><p>He desires to be at her mercy.  </p><p>“Y-Yeah, I did– fuck, Granger,” he hisses as her teeth keep grazing and nipping his skin before soothing it with kitten-like kisses. </p><p>Hermione sighs as his hand slides further down her back, steadily gripping on her arse and drawing her body even closer until a single hair couldn’t fit between them. Feeling his hardness against her centre, she shifts her weight just enough to have the fabric of her pants rub against the bulge in his trousers.</p><p>Deft fingers move to unbutton his waistcoat and Draco lets go of her for the quick second it takes him to hastily throw the expensive garment on the floor. She loosens his tie then and opens a few buttons of his shirt as her eyes find his: the grey irises have been swallowed whole by his dilated pupils, his gaze flashing with lechery and dark desires. </p><p>There’s a sudden throb between her thighs, the need to finally have him almost making Hermione tremble in anticipation. Leaning forward, she traces his swollen lips with her tongue as her hand goes back to cup his neck, thumb caressing up and down. She savours the string of breath coming out from Draco’s nose that passes on her face as light as wind, and she teases his mouth when he parts her lips to try and make way for her.</p><p>“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers against him.</p><p>“You’re not hurting me, Granger,” he repeats, words tumbling out of him as though he’s making an effort to control himself.</p><p>Her mouth moves to his cheekbone, leaving a trail of lazy kisses until she reaches the tip of his nose. “I think,” she gives him a peck there, “it’s best if you,” then to his Cupid’s bow, “choose a safe word?” She pulls away slightly and bites her lip nervously. “It would make me feel more at ease.”</p><p>Draco’s brain falters, his body lurches, almost knocking them both to the floor. He needs to blink several times before his vision is clear again. <em> Safe word. </em> The consequences of <em> that </em> and the endless scenarios swirling in his head send electric shocks to his nerve endings.</p><p>Leave it to Hermione Granger to unravel him with two words.</p><p>“Sorry. Sorry, forget it, I’ll just…” she stutters when a minute passes by without him saying anything, her hand already drawing back from his neck like she did before. And, just like he did before, Draco stops it from drifting away.</p><p>He looks at her, gaze ablaze, rummaging through his brain to find the right words. Or just <em> the one</em>, really. It shouldn’t be that difficult to say something, anything, but his attention is elsewhere. Namely, on the words lodged in his throat that mustn’t come out, lest he ruins this. And he can’t. He won’t. Because this was supposed to be a summer fling and it’s not anymore and he doesn’t know what to do and he wants to tell her, tell her that he doesn’t deserve what she’s giving him because his whole life he’s played by the rules but he doesn’t know the rules to this one game.</p><p>This game, that makes him feel more bare in front of her hazelnut eyes than he’s ever been naked with any other woman. This game, in which he found a peace he didn’t know he craved before. A game that he curses at night because it’s ruthless and it’s making him bleed out and want to scream words he didn’t know himself capable of even thinking.</p><p>(They sound like “I’m scared” and “don’t let me go” and “I’ll never be the same without you”.)             </p><p>Hermione budges imperceptibly and her hips shift under his hands with the movement, pulling him out of his thoughts. Suddenly, the clear image of a statue that looks as living and breathing as her flashes in front of him, along with his fingers delicately grazing her violin-shaped curves while looking at it.</p><p>“Bernini.”</p><p>A small smile cracks the concern on her face. “Bernini?”</p><p>“Bernini,” he nods, trying to twist his lips in a grin. “I wouldn’t just be invoking Bernini randomly, would I?” </p><p>Her fingernails are raking lightly at the base of his throat, scraping on his collarbones, something shifting in her demeanour with every passing second. Slowly, she unknots his tie completely and throws it around her neck before attaching herself back on his lips while her fingers reach for his cufflinks.</p><p>“Some high-end professional shit,” she half-smiles as she bungles with them, making him huff a snort. Then her face grows serious: “You’ll say ‘Bernini’ if I hurt you – immediately – or if I’m doing something you don’t want me to do.” </p><p>“Yes, and if I don’t say anything you can do whatever you want, Granger,” Draco confirms, feeling her breath accelerate as she sets him free of his suspenders and the shirt joins the waistcoat on the floor, before his now bare arms wrap around her again. </p><p>“Whatever I want,” she inhales deeply when his hands reach the back of her thighs, fingers digging into her skin. She drags her nails over his chest, from abs to pectorals, where she draws tight circles on his nipple making him catch his breath.</p><p>“Whatever you want, babe,” he rumbles as he stands up, lifting Hermione with him. </p><p>She lets out a small whimper at the pet name, locking her limbs around him as Draco finds the way to the bedroom. He pushes her against the wall as soon as they cross the threshold; his head is right under her chin and he traces her throat with his tongue, his blood running south as he thinks about her doing the same to him and more.</p><p>His mouth drops to her collarbone as Hermione’s fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, fisting it every time he covers a new inch of her. One of his hands finally slips under her gown, and he bites her when his fingers trace the outline of a lacy pattern over her soft skin, warm and already wet. She moans loudly, tugging harder at his hair.</p><p>Hissing but relishing the sting, Draco noses her shoulder until it reaches one of the straps of her dress. “You want a safe word, too?” he asks, before taking the small bow between his teeth and pulling gently to undo it.</p><p>“I uh…” she breathes, the words heavy in her mouth. “Yeah, uh… oh…”</p><p>Once part of her upper chest is bare to him, he sucks on the tender spot of skin right over her full breast, before tracing the neckline with his tongue, occasionally leaving small kisses, and reaching the other strap. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Hermione pinches her eyebrows together. “Stradivari.”</p><p>He snorts, holding the thread of silk between his lips, and she pats him lightly on the neck.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“Gladly.”</p><p>With his mouth, he drags the fabric down, dropping it once her bosoms are left uncovered. The silk rolls down to her navel and Hermione lets out a sigh of pleasure when Draco attaches his lips to her chest, sucking, plucking, swirling his tongue around her nipples and making her almost delirious in arousal. He caresses her relentlessly with the flat of his tongue, moving away the tie (his tie) with the tip of his nose, his fringe tickling her skin. </p><p>She tightens his grip on him, hips rolling up and down. “Bed,” she moans in his ear, halfway between begging and commanding.</p><p>Draco doesn’t need to be told twice, immediately walking the short distance to the bed and letting her down on the hardwood floor. Looking up at him, she wriggles out of her gown. Hermione stands in front of him, naked except for her lacy knickers and his tie, chest moving up and down and lips parted, lit by the moonlight entering through the window. </p><p>She is magnificent.</p><p>Rooted to the spot, he struggles to catch his breath. His eyes drink her in overzealously, inch by inch from head to toe and up again, before locking his gaze with hers. There’s not a shred of hesitation in it. On the contrary, she looks at him resolutely, daring him to do something.</p><p>He lost the battle against his will a long time ago.</p><p>She sits on the mattress and reaches for the table lamp to switch it on, filling the room with dim, soft yellow, her eyes never leaving his. Draco stands in front of her, looming, transfixed. The warm glow envelops Hermione and plays with the gold of her jewellery, making it shimmer in the half-lit room. They have nothing on her though, she is the precious gem. So rare that he’s almost afraid to touch her. </p><p>She leans back on her elbows as he keeps devouring her naked body with lust-flooded eyes. The tie dangles from her neck, resting on her breasts like a sleeping snake.</p><p>“Enjoying the view?” she teases, making him blink out of his stupor. </p><p>He crawls onto her like a predator to its prey, forcing her to lay flat on the bed. His fingers go where his mouth was, playing with her sensitive skin, lips finding their way to the other breast, tongue circling a hard nipple as Hermione arches her back. Her hands run to his chest, making him shiver when her nails scratch; she reaches down to get to his trousers, then, but Draco eludes her, kneeling on the floor as his lips leave a wet trail of kisses behind.</p><p>“I thought you said whatever <em> I </em> wanted.” She feels the sharpness of his teeth against her navel as he smiles, then squeals when he tugs her to the edge of the mattress. </p><p>“You don’t want <em> this</em>?” he asks, mouth leaving sonorous kisses on her belly. “Or this?” he goes on, hands sliding on her calves. “Or this?” he takes the hem of her knickers between his teeth and slips them down to her ankles and off; then tosses them away and places himself in the frame of her spread legs, nuzzling her inner thigh. </p><p>“You know, I got a glimpse of those at the party,” he rumbles. “Peeked out of your dress when you leaned back. It drove me fucking crazy.”</p><p>“Good. That’s what they were for,” Hermione smirks but her breath hitches when she feels his hand creep its way up to her core. </p><p>At her response, Draco’s fingers finally slip between her folds earning a loud and long moan. He looks up in time to see her tilting her head back, and he starts moving his fingers up and down, drowning them in her juices as he caresses her labia.</p><p>“You’re dripping, Granger,” he says, and it comes out so throaty and so close to her sensitive spot that it sends a jolt through Hermione’s body, making her legs quiver around him. “So wet.”</p><p>She whimpers at every new stroke and gasps when Draco moves his moist fingertips on her clit. He circles it attentively and unhurriedly, changing patterns every few seconds: it makes her lose every last coherent thought.</p><p>“I want…” she starts, but can’t seem to be able to form more than a few disconnected sounds. “Draco…” </p><p>His name comes out broken from her mouth and it sends a new wave of pleasure through him. He really needs to get out of his trousers.</p><p>“Yes, babe?”</p><p>“I…” she tries again, but gives up when she’s shaken by another tremor caused by his short nails grazing her clit. Her hand runs to the back of his neck then, pulling him against her with one strong and precise movement, and she adjusts herself on the bed to leave him as much room as possible between her thighs.</p><p>Her intention being unequivocal, Draco presses his tongue to her pussy and Hermione almost sobs, tightening her grip on his hair. “Yes! Yes, I… I want you to lick me, oh–” she tells him while he kisses her entrance clean, fingers still playing with her sweet button.</p><p>“So good,” he murmurs, his tongue caressing her nether lips leisurely, with small but hungry strokes. “So pretty. Am I doing it right, babe?” he growls, pulling slightly back.</p><p>Small hands push him back where he was. “I-I need you to… to suck it,” and she hasn’t even finished pronouncing the last syllable that Draco’s obedient mouth is on her clitoris, teeth grazing it delicately, tongue swirling circles around it. </p><p>Hermione is a mess of “yes”, “like that” and “more”, surprisingly steady hands holding his head against her. One of hands reaches up to her chest and starts playing with her nipple, while the other grips on her thigh and lower stomach to keep her from squirming too much.</p><p>After she lets out a particularly high-pitched wail that makes him grin, Draco feels her hand slip out of his hair and reach the one on her leg to grasp it and move it closer to where his mouth is. She raises herself on her elbows and the lust in her eyes goes directly to his aching cock. </p><p>“I want your fingers inside me.”</p><p>Draco watches mesmerised as his hand, covered by her smaller one, slides down and then her fingers pushes his own inside of her. She falls heavily back on the mattress, mumbling unintelligible things as she starts rolling her hips and fuck herself on his fingers, leaving him stunned into silence and breathless. </p><p>It’s only when Hermione almost screams his name and he feels her walls clench that he is pulled from his trance and begins pumping his fingers. Her ankles lock around his head, heels digging into his back, and he feels a new blast of lust run down his spine. Her pussy squeezes around him and her whole body shudders when he finds her most sensitive spot.</p><p>She’s a mewling mess, trashing on her bed, arching her back and gushing around his fingers, and it’s all because of <em> him</em>. A twisted sense of jealousy and possession takes up his mind as Draco wonders whether other people made her feel like this or if anyone else ever will. He wonders if anyone else ever felt at her mercy the same way he feels right now, and there’s a sick need inside him that wants him to be the only one. The only one to give her pleasure, the only one to offer himself to her to take pleasure from.</p><p>It lasts for a fleeting moment but it’s enough for him to want to leave a permanent mark on her. </p><p>He doubles his efforts, hands and mouth working in unison to bring her to the precipice. He crooks his fingers inside her and, when she starts gasping for air, he senses a thick, dark moan curl up at the bottom of his throat, soaked in her juices dripping down it.</p><p>“Just… just make me come, Draco,” Hermione screams, then lets out a sob when a third finger enters her. Her shaky hand runs to his face, cupping his cheek and gently pulling him up to make him look at her. “Will you make me come on your fingers? Will you make me feel good?”</p><p>“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Granger,” he mutters, turning slightly to press a kiss against her palm, before attaching his mouth back to her. <em> I’m gonna give you everything you want</em>, is what he doesn’t say.</p><p>“Good boy.” </p><p>His movements falter. His breath catches and his body spasms, hips rolling against air. Fuck. <em> Fuck. </em> Draco has to force himself to continue his ministrations but he can’t help closing his glazed-over eyes at the unfamiliar and overwhelming feeling taking hold of every centimetre of his skin and nerve endings alike.</p><p>This is why he’ll never be the same. He’s never been a submissive, never even thought about the possibility of being one; but the moment Hermione Granger walked into his life, his role was re-written. There, perfectly clear and natural, in the same messy scrawl that adorned his forearm for days.</p><p>So he lets go. Draco lets go of every doubt, every ‘but’ and ‘what if’, every fear, every thought about what other people would think and every lingering nervousness, and embraces his feelings.</p><p>It’s liberating.     </p><p>Her fingers delve back into his dishevelled hair, and everything inside him crumbles apart and rebuilds itself, moulded by her touch.</p><p>Unaware of what she caused inside him with her words, Hermione keeps writhing and making mewling sounds that are music to Draco’s fine hearing. He circles her clit with his thumb, the rhythm now unsteady and scattered, as his mouth’s undivided attention is reserved to her entrance, lapping up the juices flowing out of her. His fingers pump in and out, the lewd sound of her wetness almost as loud as her sobs. He moans at the obscenity of it all and keeps licking, sucking, leaving kisses all over while she cants her hips against him more and more the closer she gets to the edge.</p><p>When she breaks out into an intense cry that Draco is almost completely sure sounds like his name, arching up until she’s practically seated and her nails dig in the nape of his neck, he swiftly switches thumb and mouth making her gasp and convulse in pleasure as soon as his teeth brush against her engorged clit. </p><p>Endless waves of orgasm crash into Hermione, making her walls flutter around his drenched fingers, her knees trembling and their hold weakening around his shoulders as the rush of pleasure engulfs her from head to toe.</p><p>He laps up the sweet honey dripping out of her and she flinches when his tongue brushes against her over-sensitive clit, closing her legs around his head at the touch. Weakly, she pulls at his hair and Draco understands, pushing on his arms to climb back on the mattress, quietly leaning on his side next to her. He props himself up on his elbow and admires her.</p><p>Hermione has her eyes closed, head laying to the side, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted to catch long, deep breaths. Her chest rises and falls quickly following her panting, one hand stretched out and still gripping the bed sheets while the other rests lazily over her head. </p><p>Several locks of hair escaped the tight updo and now the curls are fanned out on the mattress and all over her. Draco gently moves them away, leaving feather light kisses on her shoulder and the length of her throat, while his fingers fumble with the pin in her hair to take it off and put it on the bedside table. He’s about to take the tie away from her neck but she stops him grabbing his wrist, and her mouth surges forward to steal a peck for herself.</p><p>“Such a good boy,” she hums, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling slightly. “Making me shake senseless like that.” Draco groans, the ache between his legs becoming unbearable at every new word she purrs in his mouth. “Been wanting to know how those fingers felt inside me since I saw them running on that piano in the street.” </p><p>He’d think her oblivious to the effect her words have on him, if not for her sultry tone. God, she’s a menace. And he willingly fell right into her claws. </p><p>His already dizzy thoughts are stumbling one over the other, sinful images of everything he ever thought of doing with Hermione during their month together playing against his closed eyelids. What a fool he was. Nothing could even come close. </p><p>Tie still between his fingers, he mindlessly tries to pull it down again but she blocks him once more. </p><p>“Nope. I might need this,” she whispers, and breathes out a low chuckle when a strong hand grips her waist, a hardness pokes her stomach and a choked sound escapes Draco’s throat. </p><p>“What for?” he manages to say shakily in her ear, nose drowning in the nebulous mass of her free curls. </p><p>Hermione gently brings her fingertips to his neck, grazing the length of it before her lips rest on his collarbone. “Just in case you feel audacious,” and she bites down on him, nails scratching down his throat and breastbone until she reaches the erratic beat of his heart.</p><p>In a sudden movement of her hips, she pushes him down and flips herself on top of him, naked thighs on either side of his torso, the renewed ache of her apex claiming friction against his abs. She slides down his body slowly, nails scraping on the wet path left by her lips, and when her bare sex meets the bulge in Draco’s slacks, he puts his hands on her hips to keep her there. </p><p>She won’t have it though: she hastily takes his hands off of her and keeps his wrists bound together in one hand, holding them firmly against his abdomen. He grumbles something in complaint but she pulls down the zipper and cups his hard length through his boxer briefs, hushing him with a quiet hum.</p><p>“See? Already feeling bold,” she says with a small pout, looking at his features shift under her voice and touch. He’s losing every ability of even articulating a thought, and Hermione fills up with arousal every time his eyelids flutter closed under her control. “You’ll keep these hands to yourself?”</p><p>Draco hums faintly in agreement, his head tilting back as she palms his covered shaft. Hermione takes his previous position on the floor and makes quick work of his trousers, then proceeds to kiss the muscles of his legs, now open, limp and loose around her small frame. She plays with the elastic of his briefs for a while, before adjusting herself in front of his crotch, enjoying the way he keeps twitching but keeps his hands where she left them. Finally, looking through lust-filled eyes, she presses her mouth against him and Draco hisses loudly, his body jerking and straining to stay still.</p><p>“Good boy,” she purrs, then reaches for one of his hands and pulls it to her cheek. “Doing exactly as I tell him.” </p><p>His fingers still smell like her as Hermione caresses her face with them, drawing the shape of her bones until his thumb reaches her mouth. It hovers over her lips without Draco even realising it and he lets out a soundless cry when she suddenly wraps them around it, tongue fondling it as she sucks with a small, throaty moan.</p><p>Feeling goosebumps erupting all over his body, this time he can’t help gripping her jaw with his fingers, squeezing on her neck for a moment before he remembers her words and tries to pull back. But Hermione catches him and presses her hand on his even harder, eyes still shut and mouth around his thumb, her throat purring and vibrating against his palm. Draco pushes the finger further in and she feels it scraping against her palate: she swallows around it before she lets it slip out of her warm mouth with a small ‘pop’.</p><p>“Your beautiful hands,” she mouths against it as he passes it over her lips, “they feel so good inside me, Draco. So good,” she repeats, slowly taking his fingers off of her neck as he mutters profanities under his breath. “I wonder if the rest of you will feel as good,” she says, finally taking his underwear off and setting his hard member free.</p><p>Releasing a long, lustful sigh, she traces her finger alongside his length, admiring the purple-ish and turgid veins, wetting her lips in anticipation. Her eyes dart to him: he’s gripping the bed sheets, brows furrowed and teeth digging in his lip so hard she’s afraid he might draw blood. She keeps looking at him as her lips brush the head of his cock, and a new rush of pleasure runs down her spine as Draco flinches.</p><p>Her tongue pokes out to stroke along his erection, swirl around it and leave kitten kisses until it’s completely wet. Hermione takes him in her fist then, and starts jerking him off in a slow, steady rhythm, her lips stubbornly attached on his tip, sucking and licking as if she’s trying to draw his very soul out of him.</p><p>Draco is dying. There is no other word for what he’s experiencing right now. Whether he will see the pearly gates of Heaven or be carried across the river Styx by Charon, he doesn’t know. What he knows is that humans aren’t supposed to feel this way– <em> he </em> is not supposed to feel this way. All-encompassing gratification should be out of his reach. Overwhelming pleasure should come at a price, and he hasn’t paid yet.</p><p>No matter, Hermione is intent on blessing and cursing him at once. </p><p>She keeps palming his dick, pondering how it’s going to feel in her mouth. “You’re big, babe,” she exhales in between kisses. “You’re gonna fill me up so well.” Draco curses and she sees his grip on the bed sheets tighten: she knows he’s aching and needs to feel her under his hands, and seeing him holding back this much makes her almost want to throw away her plan and sit on his face right now.</p><p>Slowly, her lips inch towards the base of his cock, adjusting her grip every time she lets a little more of him slide into her mouth. Hermione already feels him graze her throat and he’s barely halfway through, which makes her frown. It’s not going to be easy, but she’s nothing if not dedicated. Her hair falls on her face, and before she can put it back in place, Draco reaches her cheek, tucking the curls behind her ear and brushing her skin.</p><p>Immediately, she lets him slide out of her mouth which earns her a whine. “What did I say?” Draco mutters something, his fingers touching her still. “You’ll distract me,” she tells him, grabbing his wrist and pinning it to the mattress. “No touching.”</p><p>“But I want to touch you.” </p><p>“And I want you to come in my mouth.” His throaty groan is accompanied by his legs closing in around her and his hips bucking up to find her lips again. “But,” Hermione is seemingly unfazed, simply pushing him back down, “that’s not going to happen if you keep distracting me.”</p><p>“God, Granger, you’re insufferable,” he rasps out.</p><p>“And you’re so fucking hard,” she retaliates and drives his cock back into her mouth with one fluid movement, shutting him up. This time, the tip reaches the back of her throat and it almost makes her gag; she swallows around it and Draco lets out a new string of growls and curses, sending a full gush of wetness between her thighs. </p><p>Hermione starts working her mouth around his length, loving the feeling of the curve of his veins under her lips, savouring the different texture of the foreskin when she reaches his head and lets him slip back in. An involuntary moan finds its way out of her throat, the vibration making Draco’s muscles tighten and hips jerk forward. Raising himself on his elbows, he locks eyes with her, a flash of doubt crosses his gaze: is she going to reprimand him again and let him go?</p><p>Holding back a smirk, Hermione picks up her pace instead. He falls back on the mattress with a groaned “Fuck, Granger” and she focuses all her energies on his shaft, stroking it, sucking on it, licking it; she teases the head and then holds it whole in her mouth, driving it in and out with small slurping sounds that make Draco break out in obscene expressions.</p><p>The moment he moves again, gathering her hair in a tight fist, she knows he’s about to come and stops with a scowl.</p><p>“What did I say.” It’s low and it’s dark and it makes him want to spill right over her voice.</p><p>“Fuck it, Granger, just–” he tries to push her head towards his aching cock but she shoves his arm out of the way.</p><p>“I said no touching.”</p><p>“You also said you want me to come into your mouth, but… but…” He runs out of words, his mind at war with his body.</p><p>Hermione tuts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, that’s not going to happen now, is it?” Draco whimpers and her walls clench around nothing. <em> God</em>, she wants him inside of her. </p><p>“I’m sorry, just... please…” he pleads, letting go of her and tentatively resting his hand back on the bed. </p><p>And isn’t Draco Malfoy begging her to make him come a sight for sore eyes?</p><p>She watches him for a few moments to make sure he’s gonna stay put. As soon as her lips wrap around the head of his cock, though, a hand tugs at her hair.</p><p>“Alright,” she stands up abruptly and grabs the tie still hanging from her neck. “I knew you’d feel adventurous.” </p><p>Without giving him time to react or even process what’s happening, Hermione climbs on top of Draco as he lies frozen, eyes wide and black, unable to utter a single word. She sits on his lap and hastily pulls his wrists together before wrapping the silky fabric around them.</p><p>“Fuck, Gra… fuck. <em> Fuck</em>,” Draco stutters, the words heavy in his mouth and faint, as though he’s close to pass out. Hermione secures the tie around his hands and holds still for a moment before tying the knot. Just in case she’s crossing a line and he needs to use his safe word.</p><p>Instead, he simply stares at his bound wrists like a miracle is happening in front of him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chants under his breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. She pulls a bit tighter. “Fuck me.”</p><p>She ties the knot and surges forward to clash her lips against his, driven completely crazy by his inability to even return the kiss, his body heavy under her touch. The fact that he’s just putty in her hands turns her on so much that Hermione feels on the edge of a second orgasm already. She lifts his chin with two fingers, her palm pressing firmly against the bob in his throat while she rubs herself against his bound hands. </p><p>“Whatever I want, remember?” she says, before rushing back down on her knees. “Now, where were we…” His cock is hard, almost purple around the head and oozing so much precum that she fears it’s not gonna take him long to explode. Well, Hermione thinks as she licks her lips, only one way to find out. </p><p>She takes him back in her hand and starts running her fist up and down his length at a fast pace, then she leans in to circle the tip with her tongue before placing it against her nipple as she keeps jerking him off. Draco growls audibly and babbles nonsense, and her body tingles in anticipation.</p><p>“Are you going to come on my tits, Draco?” her voice is angelically devilish. He mutters something she can’t quite catch, but the quivering of his legs says it all. “You’re not going to come in my mouth, then?” she pouts, teasing him with a kiss.</p><p>His body spasms. “Hermione…”</p><p>Seven.</p><p>The whimper comes from her this time and she quickly leans forward to swallow his whole length, both of them groaning in bliss as he fills her throat. All it takes for Draco to finally fall over the edge is a few pumps inside her mouth and then his seed is flowing down her throat. Hermione holds him as he spurts and massages his hips and his thighs until he stops twitching and his body goes limp on the mattress. </p><p>His length slips out of her lips with a quiet ‘pop’ and then Hermione climbs back on the bed next to him, curling up against him and placing lazy kisses on his shoulder, her hand drawing random patterns on his chest.</p><p>Eyes closed, his breath comes in short, shallow pants as she inches up to his ear and then starts leaving feather-light kisses down his neck, making him hum in contentment. He grumbles something when he tries to raise his arms and Hermione remembers about the tie.</p><p>“Sorry, let me…” and she quickly sits up to release his hands. The skin around his wrists turned a bit red so she takes her time in rubbing it gently with her fingers. </p><p>Draco, too, sits up and finds her lips to kiss her. It’s sweet, almost shy in its fragility; it’s slow, soul-driven rather than lust-driven and his heart clenches painfully. He rests his forehead against hers and Hermione smiles. </p><p>For a moment, they simply enjoy the quietness, relish the closeness of their bodies and hearts. After a blissful minute, he nuzzles her cheek making her chuckle, and she leaves a kiss on the tip of his nose. </p><p>“Something funny, Granger?” </p><p>“You’re cute,” she says matter-of-factly, another peck on his cheek.</p><p>His newly free hands move to her hips and she presses herself against him as he wraps his arms around her body and lets her shift until she’s positioned under him. Their tongues tangle up together and Hermione breathes him in with every new swipe, one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his hip.</p><p>He pushes some wayward curls from her forehead, tucking them in the nest with the others; wide brown eyes are looking up at him as though they’re seeing him for the very first time. Draco gulps, suddenly feeling insecure. He’s not sure about what exactly she is seeing.</p><p>Trying not to let his doubts show on his face, he kisses her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin and then her lips again, and he doesn’t know but the woman in his arms feels like she could spend the sweetest forever just like this.</p><p>But then, something heavy pushes onto Hermione’s chest.</p><p>“Draco…”</p><p>He hums, still tracing her features with his lips.</p><p>“Maybe we should…”</p><p>“Shh… sh-sh…” he hushes, moving his lips on hers.</p><p>“No, we should talk…”</p><p>He presses his lips harder but is forced to pull away at her tone.</p><p>“Draco, listen to me… You’re about to…”</p><p>He doesn’t want to listen to her. Not about this. Not now, not ever. He doesn’t want to see her eyes glistening with tears, he doesn’t want to be the reason for her tears. He doesn’t want to feel like his chest is caving in on itself or that his universe is about to lose its brightest star.</p><p>He just wants to be with her, forever, but he won’t and he can’t think about that now. </p><p>“Please, don’t ask me to talk about it,” he asks her in a broken voice.</p><p>She cups his cheek, thumb stroking where a lonely tear should be. “We’ll have to, at a certain point…”</p><p>“Not right now.” </p><p>He looks at her, scared and pleading, and Hermione can see the thinnest circle of gray around his pupils. As gloomy as the London sky. As captivating as the reflection on the white marble in the waters of the Trevi fountain.</p><p>She takes a breath, then another, and another, but the words she wants to say get stuck in her throat.</p><p>She nods at last, and Draco sighs in relief, his body sagging against hers. He kisses her and it’s a ‘thank you’. He kisses her, and it’s a ‘I’m sorry’. He kisses her, and the touch of their lips plays out like a melancholic song that still lingers in the air long after the last note is hit.</p><p>They take their time in memorising each other’s bodies, lips and fingers greedy for every softness, every mole, every freckle, every stretch mark, until Draco moves his hand down her chest and starts kneading the curve of her breast gently while the other brushes over her tattooed side. Hermione tightens her grip on his lower back, driving her kiss down a more passionate road.</p><p>“Wait,” Draco mumbles against her lips, but she makes the connection in a split second and stops him from sitting up. </p><p>“Pill.”</p><p>He still hesitates. “Yes, but…”</p><p>She cocks an eyebrow. “I just took you in my mouth, Malfoy. I’m trusting you with this.”</p><p>Draco huffs a laugh, but admits the fair point. She pulls him back onto her and he adjusts his stance in the frame of her legs.</p><p>“You’ll tell me if I need to stop or slow down.” It’s more of a statement than a question.</p><p>“It’s what safe words are for,” she whispers almost mockingly.</p><p>He smiles. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you?”</p><p>Hermione bites her bottom lip, eyes gleaming, before her cheeky smile turns into a moan when he enters her with one precise stroke. He groans at the sensation of her tight walls around him and gives her a few moments to adjust to his girth. She nods shortly after, still so wet that the rubbing is delicious, and Draco starts pounding into her.</p><p>Her moans grow louder as his thrusts grow stronger and quicker; she loops her legs around his, fingers digging into his back and head tilted to the side. Draco is panting against her cheek, her warmth invading all of his senses and he struggles not to come right away. He leans in until his fringe brushes her cheek and he whispers soothing words into her ear, a kiss on her jaw after every sentence.</p><p>He tells her she’s beautiful, and how good she makes him feel.</p><p>He tells her he likes her belly, her hips, her waist.</p><p>He tells her he likes her hair, her teeth, her nose.</p><p>He tells her he likes her hands on him.</p><p>He tells her she’s soft, she’s warm, she’s tight, and Hermione mewls when he finds the angle that she knows will make her come undone.</p><p>His words get shaky and she opens her eyes to see his arms trembling. She turns to look at him and gently caresses his face, lifting herself just enough to steal a sweaty kiss from him.</p><p>“I got you, Draco. Come inside me.”</p><p>He captures her lips as his movements become erratic; she rubs his back muscles and when her nails scratch him mildly, he tugs at her lower lip. Draco feels her walls clamp around him like a vise, making him groan, and he attaches his mouth to her neck and bites on her pulse point in response. She makes the most perfect of sounds.</p><p>He grabs her waist, surely leaving bruises, and at his next thrust Hermione sees stars against her closed eyelids and she can’t hold her words back anymore. </p><p>“Oh, Draco, I–”</p><p>The broken sound of his name sends a riptide of ecstasy through him, and suddenly he’s gasping and spilling into her, before he falls on top of her, skin against skin, his head resting on the valley between her breasts. </p><p>The moment she feels his warm seed inside, Hermione follows suit with her core-shattering orgasm, waves after waves crashing into her and leaving her shaking and breathless.</p><p><strong>It takes a minute for their breath to even out</strong>, and when Hermione regains some strength, she starts rubbing soothing circles on Draco’s shoulders and back, her nails grazing his head gently. </p><p>He mumbles something, then pulls himself up and carefully slips out of her, leaning on his side next to her. She is about to sit up but he holds one hand out to stop her and gets out of bed to head to the bathroom; he comes back shortly after with a couple of small towels in his hands. </p><p>“They were next to that small sink…”</p><p>Hermione laughs out of her nose as she grabs one to clean herself. “You mean the bidet?”</p><p>“The what?” he says, brows furrowed but a tender smile on his face.</p><p>“Bidet. For your private parts. These people are <em> clean</em>.” She quickly slips out of bed and crosses the room to use the toilet, too, not before leaving a kiss to his cheek. </p><p>Draco falls on the bed, bone-melting contentment settling over him as he waits for Hermione to come back. When she does a few minutes later, she lies down next to him; he draws her closer in a hug and covers both of them with the cool bed sheet. </p><p>“You’re on your way to become a wonderful fake Italian, you know,” he tells her, his lips tickled by her wild curls.</p><p>Hermione chuckles, and it’s the last sound he hears before they both drift asleep quietly as Rome starts filling up with the smell of fresh baked bread.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Zeno Bonamore: Luna’s dad’s original name is Xenophillius, which is usually shortened as Xeno, which sounds exactly like Zeno in Italian.<br/>
Albus Silente: the original Italian translation for Albus Dumbledore, it just made sense that he was one of us lol</p><p>For those of you who skipped the smut:<br/>
- Draco called Hermione by her first name for the seventh time<br/>
- She tried to mention the fact that he’s leaving soon, but he hushed her.<br/>
<i>“Please, don’t ask me to talk about it,” he asks her in a broken voice.<br/>
She cups his cheek, thumb stroking where a lonely tear should be. “We’ll have to, at a certain point…”<br/>
“Not right now.”</i><br/>
- And the evergreen <i>“Oh, Draco, I–”</i> because we love interrupting them *wink*</p><p>-</p><p>We hope you liked this chapter and that it wasn’t too heavy despite its length! We also hope you liked the deed (if you didn’t skip it, that is) &lt;3<br/>
Let us know in the comments or on twitter (<a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a>) and we’ll see you next week!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. καημός</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Kaemós</b></i> is a word that refers to deep sadness, intense sorrow, longing, grievance, or unfulfilled desire.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>EDIT 17th April 2021</b><br/>Now illustrated with a fanart by the incredible Maria (<a href="https://www.instagram.com/maki.artist/?igshid=rlylio2bur8c">@maki.artist</a>)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>The warm sunlight tickling her closed eyelids is the first thing she registers.</p><p>Then, there’s the feel of light cotton bed sheets wrapped messily around her bare legs.</p><p>The mattress shifting under her, the springs creaking joyfully.</p><p>And then the cosy, soft as silk touch of lips on her hip, her waist, her ribcage, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, her forehead.</p><p>“Morning, sleepyhead,” the words are murmured in her ear in between kisses.</p><p>Hermione feels her features stretch out in a smile; even so, she grunts and turns on her belly to hide her face in the pillow.</p><p>A laugh, “Damn, Granger, that’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” </p><p>And then warm lips again, pressing more kisses to the nape of her neck, to the curve of her shoulder blades, to her back, to her tattoo. A feeble chill runs down her spine when his mouth lingers over the spot decorated with black ink.</p><p>Her hand reaches out to gently graze his arm, taut under her pads from pulling himself up. There’s the cool feel of teeth against her skin when Draco opens up in a smile.</p><p>“What time is it?” she mumbles in the pillow.</p><p>“Ten in the morning,” he says against the curve of her lower back.</p><p>“And what are you doing already up? It’s early,” she whines, changing position to get more comfortable. Her tangled mane moves with her and falls all over Draco’s face.</p><p>He blows it away, then chuckles at her pouting as he makes her turn around. “Early? Seriously?”</p><p>Hermione slides an arm over her eyes to block the offending morning light. “Shut up, Malfoy, it’s Sunday. Lord’s day. We sleep on Sundays.”</p><p>He leans down to catch her lips and she grunts some more, turning her face away so that his mouth falls on her cheek.</p><p>“Alright, I give up,” he fake-sighs and starts standing up. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want coffee.”</p><p>Her arm darts forward to catch his wrist just when he’s about to get off of the bed. Hermione begrudgingly opens her eyes, yet another grunt on her lips, and squints blearily at him.</p><p>Draco is sitting on the edge of the mattress, wearing a red t-shirt she recognises as one of Neville’s and a pair of boxers so colourful they can only belong to Harry’s stack. In the golden daylight, his eyes look nearly blue. His cheeks are lifted up in a tender smile and are tinted a faint shade of pink.</p><p>“Are you wearing Harry’s underwear?”</p><p>“Just wanted to see if it fitted me,” he smirks.</p><p>Hermione can’t help her cheeky grin. “I had to take my chance, that day. It was too good to pass it up.”</p><p>“You’re a menace,” he tells her, bringing his wrist to his lips to leave a kiss on her knuckles. He tries to get up then, but she tightens her grip.</p><p>“Wait. Would you do something for me?” Draco hums in agreement so she draws him a bit closer. “I didn’t take my make-up off last night,” she says, giving him her best puppy eyes.</p><p>He frowns. “So?”</p><p>“So,” she bats her eyelashes, “will you do it for me? I don’t want to get up just yet.” He stares at her for a moment and then snorts, shaking his head. “Come on,” Hermione whines, pulling on his wrist.</p><p>“I don’t even–” he begins, but she’s already decided.</p><p>“Just go next to the sink, there are wet wipes to remove make-up and you can use those. Please?” </p><p>When he still looks unconvinced, she releases his wrist and stretches languidly, leg bent at the knee and arms over head. His eyes follow the bed sheets moving over her body like second skin, muttering something under his breath.</p><p>“You’re going to be the death of me, Granger,” Draco sighs in defeat, but heads to the bathroom like she asked.</p><p>“Thank you!” she echoes, before burying her face back into the pillow.</p><p>She basks in the soft feeling of happiness that’s warming up her chest. The windows are open so the noise of cars and people shouting names of fruits and vegetables at the weekly market drifts into the room, lulling her. Closing her eyes, she shifts under the sheets and their fresh, delicate caress reminds Hermione of her pianist’s hands on her, tracing and holding and feeling and kneading. Turning her head, she looks at the spot where he was sitting just a moment ago looking at her; she passes a hand there: it’s still warm.</p><p>Biting back a smile, she sighs contentedly. She never thought she would experience that look. The look she only sees in films, the look that melts her every time even though it’s not directed at her; the look she longs for when she watches Harry and Ginny together.</p><p>Ron loved her but their story was rooted in friendship and it was always that, more than anything else, that their relationship consisted of. They didn’t surprise each other with random gifts, they never brought the other to their favourite spots or restaurants, they rarely had heartfelt conversations about their past because they were friends for years before getting together and didn’t feel the need to share anything more than they’d already had. </p><p>Which was good for a time, great even. Hermione was elated when Ron asked her on a date in their junior year and it was so easy to be with him, simply adding the romantic aspects to an already strong foundation. He was sweet and kind and treated her well, but after some time it wasn’t enough anymore. They went to university, people around them started dating, and she realised more and more that she and Ron were stuck in a friendship limbo. They kissed and had sex and it was sweet, but there wasn’t any sweeping-off-her-feet, leaving-her-breathless, heart-swelling kind of passion between them. She didn’t blame him and she cared deeply about him, so they talked about it, but, well… Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so it didn’t exactly go as she had hoped for. </p><p>She tried to make it work until one day she realised she was revising for an exam in her head while he was eating her out. She broke up with him shortly after, insisting they were better off as friends. He was mad at her for a few weeks but eventually he, too, understood there were no sparks, and they resumed their friendship. It was for the best, for both of them.</p><p>It’s nothing like that with Draco. </p><p>Every time Hermione sees him, every brush of skin, every longing glance or stolen stare, makes her heart beat faster and leaves her gasping for air.</p><p>She knows it’s the novelty, she knows it’s the way summer romances are supposed to be, she knows all that, and yet she can’t help but wonder if it would continue to feel the same if they didn’t have to part ways soon.</p><p>In a month from now, in a year from now, would warmth spread through her body at each caress? Would his eyes ignite a fire in her soul? Would she laugh at his brooding face, would she want to spend hours listening to him play and talk and complain? </p><p>Would she still think Rome’s beauty comes second to his?</p><p>A grumbling distracts her from her dangerous thoughts. Draco comes back to the bedroom fumbling with a pack of wipes in his hands. She follows him with her gaze from the moment his shadow peeks from the threshold and keeps looking at him as he steps closer and crouches next to the bed. </p><p>“Face to me.”</p><p>She drags herself to the opposite side of the bed and lays on her back, eyes closed and head turned towards him. He passes a wet tissue on her eyelids and eyelashes, trying to clean as best as he can, but the make-up is not coming off as he wishes.</p><p>“This isn’t really working,” he mumbles, still scraping gently and tilting her face to better reach the rest of it.</p><p>“‘Cause you can’t do it,” she hums, making him stop in his ministrations with a glare.</p><p>“You want to get up and do it yourself, you ungrateful witch?”</p><p>Hermione laughs and locks her arms around his neck, then leans forward to press a kiss to his lips, muttering apologies she knows he doesn’t really need.</p><p>“I have an idea,” Draco pulls back and climbs on the bed to sit on her lap. She sniggers when he leans down to resume cleaning her face.</p><p>“I thought you were sleepy? Eyebrows up,” he pats her chin with a finger, a tad of amusement in his voice.</p><p>“I am,” she replies, stretching her face muscles to help him.</p><p>“Doesn’t look like it. Open your eyes and look up.” </p><p>As his fingers carefully trace the corner of her eyes with the wipe, Hermione ponders something for a moment, a smirk tugging at her lips. It’s never too early to be a top-class tease, she decides, already feeling the telltale signs of arousal in her stomach.</p><p>“You know, there’s a weirdly shaped thing pressing on my belly. It’s kind of distracting me from sleep.”</p><p>Draco throws away the dirty wipe and his mouth descends on hers.</p><p>-</p><p>It’s well past lunchtime when they finally get out of bed.</p><p>Well.</p><p>Strictly speaking, they <em> did </em> get out of bed before lunchtime. They took a long, deeply cleansing shower, and they also came out of the bathroom at a reasonable hour, to be completely honest.</p><p>Let’s say it’s well past lunchtime when they finally put on some clothes and decide to listen to their stomachs’ growlings.</p><p>Watching Hermione fumble for ingredients, Draco asks her if she’s sure she won’t make a mess with the eggs when she decides to cook pasta alla carbonara; he gets reassured that she’s perfectly able to cook, thank you very much, and, to prove her confidence, she does so while wearing his white shirt. He tries to argue and make her wriggle out of it, but it falls so beautifully on her body that he doesn’t really care if she’s going to stain it.</p><p>She doesn’t, by the way. She <em> is </em> an exceptional cook.</p><p>They decide to go out exclusively because Draco insists that he needs his own underwear, and it takes them way too long to get to his place, given how they stop at every corner of the street to cage each other against a wall. They laugh, they stroll, they kiss, and they bite each other’s fingers when they hold hands. And then Draco twists their locked arms around Hermione and she leans her head against his chest as they keep walking like they own the streets of Rome.</p><p>Entering the boys’ flat, Draco and Hermione almost burst into laughter when they come face to face with one of them. They hold it in because they value their own life: Theo glares at them like he’d bite their head off at the wrong sound, if not worse. He’s still in pyjamas, trying to get something out of himself for his piece, and he’s never looked so disgusted.</p><p>“I can literally smell the cotton candy flowing in your veins. It’s revolting, it’s tooth-rotting, and I’m trying to get shit done, so get away from me,” he tells them when they step into the living room smiling and holding each other like teenagers who can’t hide their young, burning passion from the world. “And for the love of God, do <em> not </em> make weird noises,” he points a pencil in their direction to threaten bad intentions.</p><p>They snort because Theo looks anything but menacing in his yellow pyjamas and with his hair all over the place, but they do as he says. Draco gets changed quickly and then Hermione is back in his arms and the front door closes behind them as their friend shouts something neither of them cares enough to hear. </p><p>Stepping out of the building, they find themselves in the middle of the countless hoards of tourists that crowd the streets in the late afternoon, and they walk aimlessly through the city, passing alleys and squares, fountains and obelisks, sitting on benches to let their breaths twist together, climbing hills and staircases.</p><p>They grab something to eat when the hands of the clock start ticking towards dinner time and it’s almost midnight when they sit on a low wall circling a square, their legs dangling a few metres above the streets below them and eating gelato.</p><p>“Did you know that this isn’t technically what we call ice-cream? I think it’s got something to do with how they make it or what’s in them…” Hermione says in between licks.</p><p>“I wouldn’t even dare to compare this to what they sell in London,” Draco replies, turning his cone around to be sure nothing is melting down the biscuit.</p><p>She chuckles at the sight and stretches her hand out to wipe a puff of whipped cream that was resting on his nose, earning a small, sweet smile from him. Turning back towards the horizon, her gaze gets lost on the outline of the city in front of them, flickering with warm house-lights.</p><p>She considers something for a moment, unsure whether to go on with her question or leave her curiosity unsatisfied, but a look to the twinkling stars makes up her mind. There are already enough mysteries in the world, she decides.</p><p>“Can I ask you something, Draco?” He hums a “yes” as he crunches the residues of his cone. “What is it about paintings and statues that shakes you so much?” </p><p>In the past month, she got glimpses of his deepest thoughts, of what makes him <em> him</em>, but she’s greedy for more. She wants everything she can get from him in these last moments they have together. </p><p>Draco stiffens next to her, and for a terrible moment Hermione thinks she’s ruined it all. She risked getting too close to the sun and now her wax wings will burn and all she’ll be left with is a broken–</p><p>Impenetrable eyes turn to her. Inscrutable, like the moon on a summer night. Ice grey, like the depth of the ocean, keeping the most valuable of treasures. She wants to immerse herself in his waters; she wants to lie there, evermore lulled by his waves.</p><p>Holding her breath, she waits for him to swallow his last bite, never looking away. She hopes her eyes say, <em> if you want a shore to meet your waves, I’m here</em>. She hopes they say, <em> let me see you and cherish you and hold you like you’ve done to me</em>. </p><p>A crack appears in his gaze and he immediately averts his eyes, grabbing the water bottle that’s sitting between them. It’s enough to give Hermione the courage to insist.</p><p>“I noticed it a couple of times…” she tries tentatively. But when a minute passes in silence and his hand tightens around the plastic bottle, she inwardly berates herself and apologises. “Sorry, you don’t have to say anything. Forget I asked–”</p><p>“It’s like a mirror. It’s like you’re looking in a mirror that reflects your soul,” his voice is hoarse and his fingers are tormenting the label band around the bottle. “The people who made them, they… they found something inside of them, something that maybe was eating away at them or that was buried deep down. Either way, they took that and put it outside: on a canvas, on a wall, on film, carved into stone, even on a book page or on a musical score. Not something necessarily good or bad, just… something. Something worth feeling.” The plastic squeaks in his grip. </p><p>“And when they put it out there, they made it universal. It was theirs, it was <em> their </em> feeling; it was <em> their </em> happiness or <em> their </em> grief, <em> their </em> elation or <em> their </em> heartache. And maybe they had to take it out and create something with it because it was the only way to deal with it; but in the end, the reason doesn’t matter, because by expressing their own self, by transferring their deepest, most intimate feelings into a piece of art, they gave everyone else the chance to see the person behind them. To really… to <em> see </em> their very core, what makes them <em> them</em>.</p><p>“And perhaps these artists had no idea they were doing that. They had no idea that somebody else, complete strangers, would relate to them after coming into contact with their art. Because, honestly, none of us believes other people go through our exact same feelings; not when we’re drowning in them at least, maybe not ever. And yet, they still managed to create something that now looks back at you and tells you that you’re here, and you’re <em> known</em>, and you’re not the only one who feels that torment or that euphoria. And it just…” Draco pauses and swallows, searching for the right words, almost unable to find them. </p><p>His chest rises and falls quietly in the night, the moonlight shining on his fringe that covers his shimmering eyes. “It flips. Like a mirror. One of those weird, tricky mirrors magicians use on stage. You see <em> them</em>, but, at the same time, they make sure you can see <em> you</em>. Your true, deep, naked self. And it’s awfully mortifying and incredibly exciting at once.”</p><p>Silence lingers between them for a long minute. Hermione relishes it; it gives her time to absorb his words, to let them reach deep inside, her heart suddenly heavy with a thousand different questions. </p><p>One of them rings loudly in her ears: does she want to see that true, deep and naked self that makes his eyes darken when he catches a glimpse of the sublime? Does she want to know that side of Draco that seems to elude even himself? </p><p>And more than that, is she armed with whatever he might need to share his heavier thoughts with her? If not, does she want to arm herself? If yes, would she be brave enough to do the same with him? Allow him to peek inside her heart? This possibility seemed insane two weeks ago but now it does not. Now, it feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world. It feels like she’s been waiting for him to do exactly this.         </p><p>“Do you, um… do you tap into that when you play?”</p><p>Draco shakes his head quickly, as though to bring himself back to his own body because his mind was somewhere else. “Yeah. Well, no, actually, not really. Not exactly. I mean, when I play I can control music. It’s under my hands,” he says, putting down the bottle and cracking his fingers. “I have 88 keys on the piano and I can do whatever I want with them, literally thousands of thousands possibilities. You know, if you flip two eights, you get two in–”</p><p>“Two infinites.”</p><p>“Two infinites, yeah,” he repeats, chuckling when Hermione speaks at the same time as him. “You can do anything you can dream of, with two infinites. When I listen to a piece, it happens rarely but yes, to all that,” he waves a hand in the air to indicate his previous words. “But, when <em> I </em> play… it’s like my mind breaks the music apart in every single note, and it just becomes a key under my hands. And then it’s up to me to fill it up again with emotion.” </p><p>Re-adjusting his stance on the wall, he continues: “Say that Beethoven gave me a F sharp, right? I can just tap that key and make you listen to an F sharp. Beethoven would have nothing to complain about because it’s an F sharp, it’s the right note. But what I have to do is <em> play </em> the F sharp: not necessarily as he intended, but in a way that still makes sense and that gives a feeling. That stirs up a feeling. </p><p>“Sometimes, to do that, I simply need to become an instrument myself and recreate what the composer wanted. Other times, instead, I need to put myself in it to really have the right outcome, to play something that stays with people. I need to…” he pauses, again searching his brain for the right way to say what’s on his mind. He shakes his head at last, sounding defeated, as though the very process he’s describing takes something from him. “I need to put my own self in it.”</p><p>Hermione hesitates again. She feels like she’s walking on stepping stones, and she doesn’t want to lay her foot on the wrong one.</p><p>Finally, she decides to ask it very quietly. “And do you compose?”</p><p>“Only for exams. Honestly? I’d rather walk through fire than sit down and rummage in my heart to find the emotions I want to put in a piece. I tried a couple of times but it’s excruciating.”</p><p>Hermione swallows. Does she want to see Draco’s true, deep and naked self?  </p><p><em> Yes, she does. </em> </p><p>This is her answer. She wants to know every last side of him. Every secret corner, every painful edge, every shameful plane.</p><p>All of him, she wants to know. All of him, she wants to…</p><p>Her breath catches in her throat.  </p><p>“Your turn,” Draco says, laying back his weight on his arms and looking at her.</p><p>She makes sure to clear her throat and scold her features into a neutral expression before turning to him. “My turn?” she echoes with a nervous smile.</p><p>“Yeah. You and art. You and music. Shoot.”</p><p>Hermione bites her lip and turns on the wall to cross her legs. “What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Why did you go to law school?”</p><p>She smiles at that, relieved. “As I said, I wanted to change the world. And, actually, I–”</p><p>“No, no, no,” he stops her. “I mean, why did you go to law school instead of studying music.”</p><p>She pauses. “Well, <em> as I said</em>, my parents couldn’t afford both.”</p><p>Draco keeps staring at her. She can feel his eyes on her, even though she’s focused on scratching the scab of a mosquito bite on her leg.</p><p>“Granger.”</p><p>“What? I told you already,” she shrugs. When he remains silent, she huffs, still looking downward. “What makes you think there’s another reason?”</p><p>“You tattooed two f-holes on yourself around the time you decided to go to <em> law school</em>. Something doesn’t add up.”</p><p>“Oh, so you were actually listening to me, last night,” she tries to deflect his attention with a smirk, but Draco doesn’t bat an eyelid. </p><p>She draws a deep sigh and starts telling a truth she’s never shared with anyone before, not completely at least. The more she talks, though, the more Hermione realises that she <em> wants </em> to tell Draco about this. It’s another <em> yes </em> on her part.  </p><p>“I started composing music in middle school. I used to do it all day, every day. My parents had bought me a secondhand violin for my eighth birthday, I had started taking lessons and I was just in love with it. As the years went by, I was so greedy for music that I started making it myself. My parents were impressed of course, because I was just a kid and I was coming up with a new piece almost on a weekly basis. I would let my friends listen to them and sometimes my extended family as well, when my mum taped me.” She laughs shakily, a nostalgic smile softening her features. “Neville’s dad, Frank, my teacher, listened to all of them. He used to say I had a gift. Sometimes, he’d even made me play in front of small audiences. It went on like this until my first years in high school. </p><p>“I was around fifteen when I had my first heartbreak. You know those types of heartbreaks that threaten to leave you loveless forever?” She chances a look at him and she’s met with a serious nod. “I was devastated, and there was nothing I could do to get past it. I had this massive thing just pressing down on my chest for days on end and no amount of shed tears was enough to make it go away. So, one day, I did the only thing I was ever really able to do: I picked up my violin and I wrote a piece. It took me less than two hours, and I replayed it only once to check the flow.” She pauses, her hands clammy and trembling slightly. </p><p>Draco wants to reach out and take her hands in his, but, at the same time, he can’t bring himself to move. This moment feels sacred. It feels like one of those moments you remember in life and cling to when in need, so he doesn’t want to disrupt it in any way.   </p><p>Hermione moves her legs around and shifts in her position. “I wanted someone to listen to it, but it had to be someone who didn’t know me because it was too personal and I just wanted a sincere opinion, unbiased. So, I sent it to one of Frank’s colleagues, some of them had given me their emails. I sent the piece with a brief message, no backstory, no nothing. I received an answer shortly after. <em> Dear Hermione, of course I remember you</em>, blah blah blah, <em> the piece is quite good</em>, he said, <em> but a bit trite</em>.” She pauses again, exhaling heavily from her nose. </p><p>“It was the most heartfelt thing I had ever written and it was <em> trite</em>,” her voice cracks, and with it Draco’s heart. “It came out from the worst – the <em> worst </em>– feeling I’d ever felt, and it was <em> trite</em>. That piece was <em> me</em>, and it was <em> trite</em>. I thanked him, I ripped the musical score, and I stopped composing.”</p><p>Draco stares at her for a long moment, unblinking, trying to make sense of the last words she said and of what he’s feeling.</p><p>“What do you mean you ‘stopped composing’?” Hermione’s original pieces are some of the most incredible pieces of music he has ever listened to. It’s impossible that she just <em> stopped composing</em>.</p><p>Hermione sniffs, then tries to put herself together with a shrug. “I stopped composing. I couldn’t anymore. I would pick up my violin and a pencil and I would stare at the blank sheet in front of me for never-ending hours. Those few times I actually managed to put some notes out– well, when I went through them again I would panic. Either because they felt too much like something else I’d listened to, and the impostor syndrome slammed into me, or because I was painstakingly sure it was just <em> trite </em> stuff. Banal. Lacking in freshness or originality. Not worth it.”</p><p>Lips parted and eyes wide open, Draco looks at her in disbelief. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and grabs the bottle of water, fingering the label.</p><p>“Is that why you gave up on it? Because some random man told you your music was trite?” he manages after a while.</p><p>“He wasn’t ‘some random man’, he’s actually a very well respected musician and professor. I’m sure you know him, his name is–”</p><p>“No, I don’t care,” Draco interrupts her, this time leaning closer and taking her hand. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” She nods, her dejected eyes fixed on the spot where his thumb is drawing circles on her palm. “Can you look at me?” When she does, the intensity in his gaze takes her breath away. “Your music isn’t trite.”</p><p>“Maybe it isn’t now,” she whispers.</p><p>“No, I’m sure it never was– don’t make that face, I’m not just saying it. I mean it. Because music is never trite. No art form can ever be trite. It’s impossible. It can be good, it can be bad, it can be terribly executed or it can be a masterpiece in technique. People can like it or they can hate it, but it is never just trite. That is such tremendous bullshit that I’m surprised you actually believed it.”</p><p>She frowns at that. “Why?” </p><p>“Because you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met and I refuse to believe you really thought your music could be trite!” Draco exclaims, raising his voice with every new word. “Besides, have you met yourself? You’re a complex, multifaceted, brilliant woman. You’re ambitious and strong, compassionate and kind. You’re graceful, you’re funny, and you’re stubborn and insufferable. Art and history are your passions, as well as food and cats. You have dreams, and insecurities, and so much love inside you that I genuinely can’t understand how someone would ever think of your music as trite. It simply can’t be, because you hold infinities inside you, Hermione, and that’s what music is made of.” </p><p>Eight.        </p><p>Hermione is quite speechless. Scratch that, she doesn’t think she’s even breathing.</p><p>No one, ever, has said something like that to her, with so much confidence that they’re <em> right</em>. That she is this flawed, unique, amazing person, and when they look at they don’t want to change a single thing.</p><p>Hermione thinks she likes it, being the person Draco believes her to be. She wants to keep being that person. </p><p>She wants to keep having him observing her and studying her and loving her. </p><p>Seeing her eyes glistening, Draco leans forward and kisses her forehead. “What changed?” he asks softly after a short while.</p><p>“Well, um…” she gives him a small smile. “One day I found a copy of that old piece inside a forgotten drawer. And I found a couple of unfinished other things as well, all dating back to… I think it was six or seven years by then. I stared at them for a really long time, and then I picked up a new sheet of paper and I wrote a new piece. I used some melodies from the other pieces– all, except that single one that started the disaster… and then I filmed myself playing it and I put it online. And people liked it,” she smiles sheepishly, almost embarrassed. </p><p>“I don’t really like to admit that I needed other people’s approval to get back into doing the one thing I cared about the most; but it’s also true that without all the support I constantly have around me I would still be staring at blank pages, instead of working with Zeno Bonamore in Italy,” she laughs weakly, wiping some stray tears with the back of her hand.</p><p>Draco cups her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek, and her eyes flutter shut briefly. “I’m happy you found your way back to it,” he tells her quietly, sincerity written across his features. “And I hope you’ll never let anyone else make you doubt your talent. You’re a force of nature, Granger. You’re too good to let other people’s judgment bring you down.”</p><p>Hermione smiles affectionately, her chin trembling slightly and her heart swelling as Draco’s eyes bore into hers. So light and so dark at the same time. She would like to tell him a hundred different speeches, all ending with the same sentence.</p><p>She opens her mouth to speak. This is it, she thinks. They’re alone, no one waiting for either of them, no one is going to interrupt them. He’s looking at her like he, too, wants to say something; like he, too, has been waiting for the right moment.</p><p>And this is the right moment. </p><p>He must know that she–</p><p>A loud ringing makes her jump.</p><p>Draco curses under his breath. “Sorry, I don’t know why this thing never switches off to vibration…” </p><p>When he takes his phone out of his pocket, the screenlight is so bright that Hermione can see his expression shift and harden immediately.</p><p>“Everything alright? Is it the boys, should we...”</p><p>“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he gives her a weak smile, not really convincing her. </p><p>But she doesn’t get to press the matter, because he leans in for a long kiss that tastes like gelato and melancholy.</p><p>The notification of his flight in a week’s time will still be there, the next time he picks up his phone.</p><p>-</p><p>They tangle up in bed.</p><p>They lock their legs together when they sit.</p><p>They loop their arms together when they walk.</p><p>They cling on each other’s fingers when they stand.</p><p>They wander the city in broad daylight and they wander the city in the quiet of the night. Draco’s arm rests on Hermione’s shoulder like it’s the one place it was always meant to be.</p><p>They share secrets and they tell each other stories and they lie in silence in each other’s arms.</p><p>They sleep under the bed sheets and they sleep naked, kissed by the moonlight.</p><p>Those very few times they sleep, that is. They don’t talk about it, but both their brains are visualising the hours they have left like tiny grains of sand dripping down inside an hourglass. They both want to turn it upside down and see if time, maybe, started flowing backwards. Who knows. Maybe the spell would work.</p><p>Sadly, they have silently agreed that they can’t waste a single grain anymore. Not even to try and flip the course of events. So, the hourglass stays put, and they fall down on the mattress for the millionth time.</p><p>-</p><p>There’s an hourglass in Ginny’s living room.</p><p>One of the very last days of August, when summer feels already ended and that weird, bittersweet feeling that September carries with it lingers in the air, they meet at her place. It’s less crowded than that torrid day when everything had changed, just the two groups of friends and a few other people, and it’s calm and serene. </p><p>There is chatting and laughter around him as Draco’s eyes find the hourglass placed in front of some books on a bookshelf in the corner of the room: someone must have turned it recently, because the sand is restlessly falling down. It hypnotises him, and it sends a rush of anguish down his back: there’s so little time left…</p><p>“No, we haven’t. But, I mean, if you feel like it…” Hermione is sitting on his lap and she squeezes his knee to shake him out of his trance.</p><p>“Come again?” Theo rolls his eyes but Draco decides to ignore him. His remaining time is only hers.</p><p>“Luna was suggesting we played something together,” she says, looking at him questioningly. “I’ll need a musical score but there’s definitely no shortage of those around here.” </p><p>There’s a tenderness in her eyes these days that risks bringing him to his knees.</p><p>Play something together. A piano-violin piece. Of course.</p><p>“Of course. Sure, let’s go,” he kisses her cheek and Hermione stands up with an excited yelp among some clapping and whooping.</p><p>They walk to the stack of music books to find something they can work with. Draco is scanning through the pages of an anthology of classics, when Hermione slides a printed score under his nose.</p><p>“I don’t know this one,” he frowns, looking at the authors’ names.</p><p>“Figured, but I tried it with Ginny a while ago. It’s really beautiful. And you’re brilliant enough to do it cold,” she says, leaving a small kiss on his shoulder.</p><p><em> Italian Summer</em>. Draco looks at the black notes in front of him. The piece looks quite long but apparently not too complex. Very emotion driven. Placid. Almost tragic.</p><p>“Why not,” he smiles at her as he goes sitting at the piano. He brushes the keys lightly, looking for the right ones where to start while Hermione places the violin Ginny gave her on her shoulder. Draco glances at her as she moves her hair out of the way, chin resting delicately on the instrument, adjusting the score on the music rack so that both of them can see it properly.</p><p>His chest aches. Aches like it threatens to split in half, ribcage falling apart and heart left pumping blood on the old parquet under his feet.</p><p>He cracks his fingers and takes a deep breath before tapping the first note. The music starts spreading around in the air, gentle and soft, almost mystical in its tenderness, like the light breeze that blows around Rome and brushes their hair when they walk through her streets. His fingers touch the white keys as if they were made of glass, almost afraid of breaking them, and they stretch on the black ones every now and then; it reminds him of how he touches the spots of moles and freckles on Hermione’s skin.</p><p>She joins him in the melody at that moment, her bow stroking the violin strings unhurriedly, accompanying the musical scales Draco is making flow out of the piano, the shrilling sound of it vibrating around the room. It begins slowly, much like the calm speed the sun has when it sets: its arch gradually unfurls through the Western sky, the fireball rolling through the thousand different shades of orange that are tinting the usually blue veil. And then, right before touching the horizon line, right when it’s so red and hot that it feels like it could be touched just by stretching a hand, at that moment it falls down suddenly, disappearing into the night, getting ready for a new spin.</p><p>Hermione lets the pace pick up like she’s replaying the death of the sun, accelerating without the audience realising it. And then she’s moving her hand on the fingerboard quickly and precisely, the bow following her in giving small caresses to the strings, as if every new note put out a new sparkling star in the sky, stars that Draco ties together with the piano melody in a flickering black carpet of constellations.</p><p>Two pairs of eyes move from the score to their own instruments effortlessly, and yet, without looking at each other, the two musicians move as one, taking their stunned friends through the gates of a secret garden, making them look around in the midst of branches and flowers for the one answer to the eternal riddle of life and love that will forever seal their fates.</p><p>The melody slows down again, and Draco looks at the sheet in front of him without even seeing the black notes. On the score, they transfigure into the names and the shapes of the places where they’ve been to together: there’s the Colosseum, there’s the Pincio terrace and there’s the Vatican; there’s a pizza and there’s a plate of pasta; there’s a stolen kiss in the middle of the round spot of light inside the Pantheon and there’s the dress she bought one day from a booth-shop right on the Tevere shores.</p><p>There’s a pianoforte playing an off-key tune in the middle of a square covered in sunlight.</p><p>The violin drives the music on a new scale and Hermione arrives to take it in her hand from the low sounds of the chattering tourists crowds right in the city centre and make it run away towards the fresh and open tune of a bright day in piazza Navona, where they saw some kids play with water bubbles and she immediately joined them, blowing soap all over Draco’s shirt.</p><p>Her piercing notes get higher and higher, paired by the deep piano chords that keep the melody flowing, an intricate labyrinth of sounds that sounds too much like the map of Rome for Draco’s heart not to clench painfully. When he reaches for the highest end of the keyboard, everyone’s breath catches, and they hold it in until Hermione plays the final string and he taps the last notes.</p><p>The booming sound of the deepest one echoes in the room for a long time, and Draco looks at his finger pressed on the key, unable to break the connection. Maybe, he thinks, until the music flows, the illusion that a moment can last forever won’t shatter.</p><p>A delicate hand on his shoulder, and the fantasy bursts open like a water bubble that crashes into a solid surface. Like the perfect tide of the sea that stretches out on the beach and then, inevitably, draws back into the water.</p><p>He looks up at Hermione and the look on her face sends a wave of grief for something he hasn’t lost yet crashing into him; because he can see in her glistening eyes that she, too, knows that the hourglass can’t be turned upside down. </p><p>She gives him a small and broken smile and he quickly stands up to envelop her in his arms, his face buried in her hair and the violin pressing against his panting chest between them, as the applause in the room fills their ears. The tears in his throat feel like a small marble that got stuck and can’t go neither up nor down.</p><p>Stroking his back, Hermione tries and fails to soothe his erratic heartbeat, and he lets her go a few seconds later, lest he breaks in her arms. He finally turns towards their audience and sees their friends clapping with sympathetic smiles. Ginny’s eyes are red and she’s holding a crumpled tissue in her hand; she grabs Hermione by her wrist and leaves a wet kiss on her cheek.</p><p>Draco doesn’t say much, chest heavy and mind reeling. He vaguely registers Blaise’s pat on his shoulder when his friend stands up to distract the crowd and play something, taking the violin from Hermione. He finds himself clapping, too, more because everyone else is doing it than because he’s actually focused on what is going on; the ringing in his ears stops only when Hermione’s whisper reaches him to reconnect him with the present.</p><p>“Come with me.”</p><p>Her fringe crowns her face, curls falling into place like dominoes, her gleaming brown eyes are filled with passion and emotion and Draco’s gaze lingers for a moment on her teeth peeking from her lips. It feels like he’s seeing her again for the first time and like he’s known her his whole life at once. </p><p>Hermione takes his hand, fingers locked together, and guides him out of the living room and into the darkness of the rest of the house, not saying a word, her mouth pressed against his. She opens a door and lets them fall onto… Draco doesn’t even know. A bed, a sofa, a chaise, a carpet– it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care.</p><p>He just holds her close, his lips tracing her, her wondrous curls tickling his skin, her hands on his back, and he hopes that this connection is enough for her to understand everything he doesn’t have the courage to say. He hopes the way he clings to her makes her realise that he desperately needs her to tell him the words he can’t say. </p><p>He hopes the wetness on his cheeks is enough to let her know that he would be ready to change his whole life, were he just brave enough to do so.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus was the most talented musician of the ancient times. Being Apollo and Muse Calliope’s son, he had learnt how to play the lyre by his father himself, the god of music. Nothing could resist Orpheus’ beautiful melodies, neither enemies nor beasts. Even rocks and trees would move on the ground to get closer to him when he played. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eurydice was a woman of incredible beauty and grace. Beautiful and shy, she had been drawn to Orpheus enamored by his voice: such was the spell in music and appearance that neither could cast their eyes off each other. Something inexplicable tugged the hearts of the two young people, and soon they fell in love. Completely, purely, deeply, dearly, madly in love. Unable to spend a single moment apart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After a while, they decided to get married. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their wedding day dawned bright and clear. Hymenaios, the god of marriage, blessed their union and then a great feast followed. The surroundings were filled with laughter and gaiety. Soon, the shadows grew large, signaling an end to the revelry that had lasted much of the day and the wedding guests all took leave of the newlyweds, who were still sitting hand in hand and starry-eyed. Soon, they both realised that it was time they were on their way and departed for home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No one took it as a prophetic sign. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One day, Eurydice had been wandering the forests with the Nymphs. The story blurs a bit here, as it usually happens with tales as old as time; some say that she was dancing with the Nymphs while some others say that the shepherd Aristaeus chased her, beguiled by her beauty. No matter the circumstances, though, Eurydice was barefoot in the grass when a snake bit her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She died instantly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus was devastated. It was like all the colours had been sucked away from his life. Like the sun had stopped rising. Like all the joy and the beauty and the happiness and the marvel had disappeared from the world. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He did the only thing he was able to do: he sang his grief. The melody coming out of his lyre was heart-shattering, so tragic that it made everyone around him understand the wasteland he was seeing around him. The living and the dead took part in his grief; both humans and gods learnt about his sorrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Some stories say that Apollo came to him, at that point, and told him to descend to the Underworld to see his lost wife. Any other mortal would have died, but Orpheus was protected by the gods in his mission. He got to the Stygian realm, passing by ghosts and souls of people he did not know. He managed to even get past Cerberus, lulling the three-headed dog with his lyre, and finally arrived in front of Hades and Persephone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He asked– no, he begged for Eurydice to come back to life. He pledged to the god of the Underworld, he threw himself at the Queen’s feet, and he used every word he knew to help his plea. It wasn’t working. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He decided to play. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus played his lyre again, and put everything he had in that music. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He put there his love for Eurydice, his grief for her loss, his desire for her to come back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He put her smile in it, the way her hair moved around when she spun on her heels, her crystal laughter, the sweet pecks on his cheek she gave him every morning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He put the way the sun played with the colour of her eyes– eyes as dark as Aphrodite’s, as glittering as Athena’s.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He put the choiceless hope that drove him to the gates of the Underworld, he put the hopeless love he still had and will forever have for her, blazing in his chest when he dared look into Hades’ eyes to see if his prayer would have been answered. They were absolute feelings, not tied to anything else, not tainted by anything else: pure love and pure hope, so violent and cruel that they were tearing him apart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hades and Persephone were moved to compassion. The King told him he could have gotten his Eurydice back, but under one condition: she would have had to follow Orpheus from behind while walking out towards the light from the caves of the Underworld, and he was forbidden to look at her before they both reached the realm of the living. Had he broken that one condition, he would have lost her forever.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> If he’s patient, he can have the love of his life back with him as a real woman by his side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus agreed immediately. He thanked the gods with countless praise and his heart was soaring with joy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hades told him to start walking, and he did. He started ascending back to the world of the living. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But he couldn’t hear Eurydice’s footsteps behind him. How could he? She was a ghost. A shadow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He began to panic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if the gods had fooled him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if Eurydice was not behind him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if he came back into the light, and she was still in Hades’ grip? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> How could he have been able to survive if he lost her again? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus could already see the light when he lost his faith. A part of his brain screamed at him to keep walking, to get mad at the gods afterwards, to not challenge Hades. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But the clenching of his heart was too painful to bear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had to know. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And he turned around. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eurydice looked back at him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In a staggering moment of agonising clarity, Orpheus realised that the horror pictured all over her features had been caused by him. By his inability to complete his task. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And yet, paired with that, something else, too, in her eyes: stronger than pain and terror. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Immediate forgiveness. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus screamed, and he threw himself back at her, trying to grasp her solidifying shadow, but Eurydice was whisked back amongst the dead, now trapped with Hades forever. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If her lips tried to mouth something to him, his eyes were too blurred up with tears to make out what it was. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tried and tried and tried again to return to the Underworld, but it was pointless. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just like it was pointless to try and ease the torment, the heartache, the agony that haunted every day of his life from then on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stopped living. He didn’t die, but he stopped living. He was wandering disoriented, day after day, night after night, in total despair. He could find no consolation in anything. His misfortune tormented him, and his songs were no more joyful. His only comfort was to lay on a huge rock and feel the caress of the breeze, his only views were of the open skies. His days would pass by playing mourning songs on the lyre, and no one knew who he was really mourning. Some say Eurydice. Some say his lost soul. Some say the life together they never got to experience. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He called upon death day after day, begging to be killed so that he could be reunited with her. His request was finally granted one day when he was least expecting it: it’s not clear whether it was Zeus’ decision, or the random attack of a beast tearing him to pieces, or even the act of the Maenads in a frenzied mood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Orpheus and Eurydice were finally reunited. And his gift to the world were his enchanting melodies and tunes. </em>
</p><p>Draco never quite understood why Orpheus turned around.</p><p>-</p><p>His hand is on the door handle when Blaise calls him and he turns around with a groan.</p><p>“You’ll make me run late.”</p><p>“Have you packed?”</p><p>The dark-skinned man stands in front of him leaning against the table in the middle of the living room, arms crossed and staring at him in a way that makes his stomach churn. Theo is slumped on the sofa, mindlessly zapping from channel to channel, but he turns the volume down instantly at his friend’s question.</p><p>It takes every last ounce of strength in Draco not to throw the nearest thing at Blaise.</p><p>“I’ll do it tomorrow morning, I still have ti–” he begins, but he’s cut off.</p><p>“Draco, our flight is at 9 am. When exactly is ‘tomorrow morning’?”</p><p>He takes a deep breath, his knuckles turn white around the handle. “I just need to close the bag anyway, everything is already inside–”</p><p>“No, you need to close it and to put the new things you bought in it–”</p><p>“I didn’t buy anything.” </p><p>Their voices are starting to overlap.</p><p>“And you need to check the weight because there’s a limit and you should do it now, not tomorrow morning.” Blaise raises his voice as he steps closer to him.</p><p>“Zabini, I already have two parents, I don’t need a third one,” Draco’s attempt at keeping himself under control is failing miserably. </p><p>“It’s really a simple thing. You leave, you pack.”</p><p>“I won’t leave without packing my bag, you can sleep soundly.”</p><p>Theo’s eyes flash from one to the other, ready to jump upright if it comes to needing to separate them.</p><p>“I sleep perfectly, thank you. You’re the issue here.”</p><p>“Because of a fucking <em> bag</em>?”</p><p>“Because you don’t want to leave!” </p><p>The truth booms around the flat for an infinite second. </p><p>Theo is up between them, shoulders rigid and tense gaze, as Blaise leans back on the table with a tired sigh. </p><p>Draco inhales deeply, trying to block out his friend’s words, before speaking quietly. “I said I’ll pack in the morning.”</p><p>“Draco…” Blaise begins, serious as he’s never been. “Just say the word. Tell me that you want to stay, and I’ll help you handling Luc–”</p><p>“I said I’ll<em> pack</em>!” Draco screams before he can finish pronouncing his father’s name. Blaise shuts up on the spot and even Theo takes a surprised step away from him. He steadies his breathing as best as he can, his voice hoarse for more than yelling. “Okay? I’ll pack, it’s fine, it won’t take me long.”</p><p>“If you don’t want–” </p><p>“For fuck’s sake, I already told you I don’t need another parent! Just spare me the dad talk for one minute of my life.”</p><p>“I’m trying to help you.”</p><p>“I don’t need help.”</p><p>“Jesus, Draco, that’s just denial–” Theo chips in, but his mouth closes shut as soon as Draco’s jaw flexes menacingly.</p><p>“Look, just– can I just go? I really can’t be late.” He looks at them, both stunned into silence by his red eyes, then swallows a lump in his throat that’s as heavy as lead. “I’ll pack. I don’t know if I’m coming home to sleep but I’ll…” He exhales heavily and passes a hand down his face before turning back to the door. “I’ll be here. Tomorrow morning. I’ll pack. I <em> know</em>, okay, you don’t… I’ll be here.” And, in a flash, the front door is closed behind him.</p><p>Blaise buries his face into his hands as Theo falls back on the sofa.</p><p>“That was a bit harsh,” the latter says after a minute.</p><p>“Yeah,” Blaise mutters against his palms.</p><p>Theo hesitates before asking, “Do you think we should do something?” </p><p>“We should definitely do something.”</p><p>“Great. And what would that be?”</p><p>“I have no idea,” Blaise sighs, letting the heels of his hands dig into his eyes with a groan.</p><p>“Perfect,” Theo chirps sarcastically, standing up and going to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water.</p><p>“It’s just… I’ve never seen him like this,” Blaise tells him, taking the glass from his friend and putting it down without even drinking. “I’ve known him since we were kids. I know every single expression on his face and these are new. They are all completely new and, honestly, all this is bewildering to me so it must scare the shit out of him.”</p><p>“Maybe we should let it be. Maybe he needs to make that decision by himself,” Theo muses, sipping slowly.</p><p>“Couldn’t he be just like any other normal bloody person who doesn’t fall in love over the summer?” Blaise exclaims, completely exasperated by now.</p><p>Theo pauses for a second. “You think he really fell in love?”</p><p>“Mate, I told you. New expressions. And all of them are right there when he looks at her. It’s different and it’s…” the right words elude him. “I don’t know. It’s more.”</p><p>Theo looks at the images on television running on mute. The journalist looks quite ridiculous. “Maybe they could do long distance. Like Potter and Ginny.” Blaise turns to him, brows eloquently raised, and Theo groans with a roll of his eyes. “Oh my God, do I look like Draco Malfoy to you? Falling in love just because I see hot people around?”</p><p>“It’s just odd that they immediately came to your mind. Besides, you <em> do </em> have a thing for face scars,” Blaise shrugs, picking up his glass.</p><p>“<em>You do have a thing for face scars </em>– ah-ah. Hilarious. It’s hardly visible anyway, given how his hair is… oh, fuck you, piss off,” he flips Blaise off when he doesn’t stop sniggering. “And, by the way, who’s the one who hooked up with more than one person in the past month and leaves Italy with his heart still intact at the end of the summer? This guy!” he exclaims, gesturing to himself and glaring at his friend.</p><p>Blaise snorts. “Alright, you win. However, Harry and Ginny basically live with plane tickets in their pockets, and they have friends and family in both places. It’s different. Not to mention the fact that they don’t have Lucius Malfoy as a father.”</p><p>“Well, then… hold on,” Theo remembers something in that moment. “What are you and Luna going to do?”</p><p>The other man scratches the stubble on his jaw. “Well, Luna is actually moving to London…”</p><p>“Lucky bastard!”</p><p>“…and I know that because <em> we </em> actually <em> talked </em> about it, before starting anything serious.”</p><p>“Don’t let the kid know that.” He hears Blaise let out another aggravated sigh as he picks up the remote. Before turning the volume back on, Theo sends a shit-eating grin his way. “Hey, did <em> you </em> fall in love over the summer?”</p><p>Blaise grabs a forgotten shirt from the nearest chair and throws it at him. “Did <em> you </em> pack your bag?”</p><p>-</p><p>“<em>Oh my God! Are you serious? </em>” Hermione literally shouted in Draco’s ear when he gave the direction to the taxi driver. The middle-aged man sitting behind the steering wheel covered his ear at the shrill sound, but not even he could hold back a smile. </p><p>The place Draco was taking her for their last night together is a famous one: a park, right at the edge of the city, that at night is filled with sparkling glow-worms. Hermione reacting like that was exactly what he was hoping for.</p><p>“You said Ginny’s grandmother told you about them. Let’s see the magic with our own eyes,” he told her, before she launched herself at him and smacked loud kisses all over his face.</p><p>And now he’s looking at her, just a couple of steps in front of him, as her widened eyes take in the marvel of the dark night lit up by the small and luminous insects. She turns to him with a big, radiant smile, and his own cheeks lift up in a grin, filled with warmth, filled with affection and filled with love.</p><p>Because, at this point, Draco really has no more doubts.</p><p>Hermione spins around in her periwinkle dress, jean jacket over her shoulders, taking in the beauty of the nature surrounding her with awe and stupor, face lit up by the reflection of the glow-worms around her, and the only word he can think of when he looks at her is love.</p><p>Hermione Granger is the portrait of love.</p><p>And he’s just so completely, purely, deeply, dearly, madly in love with her.</p><p>She stretches a hand and wraps it around his, pulling him close and letting his arms envelop her from behind. Draco leaves a kiss on her temple, inhaling once more the distinct note of vanilla in her shampoo.</p><p>“This is beautiful, I love it,” she sighs, sinking deeper into his chest. “I can’t believe you remembered about Ginny’s grandma.”</p><p>“I remember everything, Granger,” he whispers in her ear, chuckling lightly when she suddenly turns around to grab his face in her hands and kisses him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Her thumbs brush on his cheeks and Draco wraps his hands around her wrists, mirroring her strokes and leaning his forehead against hers.</p><p>“Will you stay with me?” A pause. Long enough for him to hope she’s really asking him to <em> stay</em>. “Tonight?” Her voice is feeble, almost inaudible.</p><p>He should say something. He knows he should, because he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t take the chance.</p><p>But he also knows that he has a flight in less than twelve hours and that she can’t leave Rome.</p><p>Beautiful, ethereal, eternal, perfect Rome. That brought them together and that now tears them apart. Too bad someone already tried to burn it to the ground and failed, proving its immortal strength; Draco would have gladly tried his chances, if that meant being able to keep Hermione with him.</p><p>But he can’t be selfish, can he?</p><p>He can’t ask her to give up on her dreams.</p><p>He can’t ask her to come back with him.</p><p>He can’t ask her to wait for him.</p><p>He can’t… he just… </p><p>His lips leave a small kiss on the tip of her nose. “Of course I’ll stay tonight.”</p><p>Her fingertips keep caressing his face as her eyes flicker shut. The pads of her left hand are hardened by the countless hours spent pressing on violin strings, yet her touch is so exquisitely soft. They move deliberately all over his features.</p><p>Cheekbones.</p><p>Nose.</p><p>Eyebrows.</p><p>“What are you doing?” his voice is a whisper, as frail as a broken branch.</p><p>Eyes.</p><p>Jaw.</p><p>Chin.</p><p>Lips.</p><p>“Memorising you,” she breathes in response, before capturing his mouth again.</p><p>It’s sad, it’s heavy and it tastes like love and heartbreak at the same time.</p><p>Draco tightens his hold on her, drawing her closer, bodies pressed together.</p><p>
  <em> Ask me to stay.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay. </em>
</p><p>“Draco, I…”</p><p>He waits.</p><p>A beat.</p><p>Another.</p><p>An indentation in the shape of Hermione Granger forms in his heart, bruised one too many times already. This feels like the one that wrecks him indefinitely.</p><p>He doesn’t blame her. Of course he doesn’t. The only one to blame is himself. He wasn’t strong enough to resist her.  </p><p>He kisses her again, pouring into it the pieces of his heart that are still intact.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>His smile is soft, albeit crestfallen as her eyes bore into his. He could spend the rest of his life just like this, Hermione in his arms, surrounded by glow-worms and looking at her, the most beautiful woman in the entire world.</p><p>He was a fool if he ever thought he’d understood the meaning of beauty before laying his eyes on her.</p><p>The meaning of love.</p><p>“I wish things were different.” Her broken sob will haunt him for the rest of his days. Draco kisses away a tear from her cheek, forcing down an infinity of words. “But, still, I…”</p><p>His lips stop her.</p><p>He can’t hear it.</p><p>He couldn’t bear it.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione frowns and grunts in his arms when the alarm clock goes off. Draco lulls her back to sleep before disentangling his limbs from her grip a few minutes later. He moves her hair off of her face and brushes it back with gentle fingers.</p><p>The sun is just starting to brighten up the sky from a remote corner of the horizon. He looks out of the window for a long moment, his hand still tangled in Hermione’s hair, the feel of the warmest bed he’s ever known against his skin. Then, he gathers all of his inner strength and gets up, changes in his clothes and grabs his jacket from the sofa in the living room, searching the inner pockets.</p><p>The sheets of paper from the night before are still there, folded neatly together. He spreads them open to check if they’re complete. The black notes on the staff are small and drawn with a sure hand.</p><p>Draco quietly looks at the pages for a minute before his eyes wander around the darkness of the house. His fist clenches and the rustling of paper in the deafening silence mirrors what’s happening inside his chest when he thinks about the woman sleeping soundly in the next room. Which is constantly, these days. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like this.</p><p>He grabs a pen and scribbles a title on top of the first page.</p><p>On the back of the last one, a small note.</p><p>
  <em> Still not less than 5 min </em>
</p><p>
  <em> D </em>
</p><p>He goes back to the bedroom and leaves the pages on her bedside table. Whatever Hermione will do with them, he doesn’t want to think about. But he wants her to have something real to remember him by. This is the least he can do.</p><p>Leaning with his hands on the mattress, Draco presses his lips to her cheek. She turns in her sleep, and her mouth finds his, almost by mistake. It lasts a fraction of a second, enough to cause a tsunami of emotions slamming into him.</p><p>A damp trail of tears finds its way to his cheeks.</p><p>He leaves a last, final kiss on her skin, moving just slightly closer to her ear.</p><p>“Goodbye, Hermione.”</p><p>(Nine.)</p><p>The bedroom door is closing behind him, when Draco has the sudden urge to turn around and steal one more look. Just one more. And he’s about to do it. He’s sure he’s going to do it, when his brain reminds him of Orpheus’ story. The greatest musician of his time. Doomed because he couldn’t help but turn around to look at the love of his life, Eurydice.</p><p>Draco never got his reasoning. <em> Just wait</em>, he used to think. <em> Just wait, walk, and you’ll get to be with her forever. What’s the big deal? </em></p><p>But now he gets it.</p><p>He still can’t explain it, but he gets it.</p><p>And yet, he knows that one more glance would be the end of him.</p><p>The door clicks shut behind him and he walks out of Hermione’s life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Things got pretty... well, sad, didn’t they? Let’s be honest here, it’s not dramione if it doesn’t feat at least some kind of angst. If it makes you feel any better though, we did shed some tears while writing it, so we feel your pain.</p><p>Let us know what you think about it! You can find the piece Hermione and Draco play together in the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HGyKt9sCCNTn7KAP5xibw?si=t67yYdpeRZauqsaANw9ZZg">fic playlist</a> on Spotify. We’ll leave our twitters one more time – <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a> – and we’ll see you next week! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. νοσταλγία</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Nostalgía</b></i> combines the ancient Greek term <i>nostos</i>, which means “return home” or “homecoming”, and <i>algos</i>, a Homeric Greek literary term meaning “ache” or “pain”.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>A newspaper is slammed against the nape of his neck, which makes Draco sputter his coffee all over the table in a way that Lucius Malfoy would find positively barbaric.</p><p>“What the <em> fuck </em> is Nott talking about?!” </p><p>The shrill voice penetrates his still drowsy brain, and he thinks he’d almost prefer his father to be here rather than the person it belongs to. Almost.</p><p>Another slap with the newspaper, on his arm this time, before a tall, elegant and very infuriated woman circles the table and takes a seat in front of him. The black suit she’s wearing matches her short bob cut, making her look as the perfect doomsayer.  </p><p>“Please, <em> please</em>, for the <em> love </em> of God, tell me he’s messing with me.”</p><p>Draco puts down the china cup and takes some napkins to clean the mess. He grimaces, but he’s not really complaining: the liquid was disgusting.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Parkinson.”</p><p>A new slap, right on the top of his head.</p><p>“I am <em> not </em> kidding, Malfoy,” Pansy says, pointing her makeshift weapon at him with a terrifying glare. “You’d better not have messed up your whole life during the summer without <em> ever </em> calling me.”</p><p>It’s December, Christmas is near, the streets of London are crowded with people frantically looking for presents and the weather is so cold that even thinking about a time when everyone walked around in shorts and tank tops sounds like madness. Draco has been back in town for four months now, and his routine quickly picked up its usual pace again, forcing him to march to the axfysiant rhythm of the English capital.</p><p>“You were in the States.” He doesn’t even know why he’s trying to find excuses, truth be told. He knows that she’s mad, and rightfully so. Because Pansy is always right.</p><p>“I could have been on bloody Mars, and you should have still called me!” She tries her chances with the newspaper again but Draco snatches it out of her hands. “And, by the way, I’ve been in Europe for a discrete amount of time, now. Was it <em> that </em> difficult to pick up a mobile phone and call me?”</p><p>“It was already over by then,” he shrugs, waving a hand around in a ‘it doesn’t matter’ kind of way. There’s no point in beating around the bush. He’s well aware of what they’re talking about. He’ll just try to get through this conversation as quickly as possible so as to go back to ignoring they ever had it in the first place. </p><p>“Oh my…” Pansy’s fingers run to her temples to massage them as she sighs loudly. “The <em> one </em> time I leave you with those two good-for-nothing idiots,” she mutters while Draco flags down a waiter.</p><p>“Have you had breakfast?” </p><p>“You’re not calming me down with pancakes, Malfoy.”</p><p>“Cappuccino and a cream donut for her. Make it soy. And a… cloth? For this,” he tells the young man, pointing at the spilled coffee. “Thank you.”</p><p>Pansy is still glaring at him when the waiter leaves and Draco turns his attention back to her.</p><p>“Look,” he sighs, “you were busy. With the auditions, the show pitch and everything, and I didn’t want to burden you with this thing.” She stares at him, lips firmly pursed in a thin line. If her eyes could shoot knives, he would have already died thirty times by now. “And then I came back and it was fine,” he goes on, trying to placate her ire, “so I really didn’t see the point in telling you just for the sake of it. Can you stop looking at me like a serial killer?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Draco exhales loudly, shifting on his chair. “If you want me to say I’m sorry, then I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I want you to tell me what happened.”</p><p>“<em>Nothing </em>happened.”</p><p>“Draco, I sw– oh, thank you,” she is forced to swallow her curse when the waiter comes back with her food, a perfect picture of politeness and composure while the man cleans the table before leaving the tray on it. Draco grabs the bottle of water that he had ordered earlier and pours them two glasses, ignoring the renewed glare from his friend.</p><p>“You know, we had a family dinner last night,” Pansy starts again, crossing her legs and adjusting her stance, perfectly curated fingernails tapping on her folded arms. “The Nott’s were invited, too, and the evening was pleasant enough. Until something curious happened. My father decided, rather fatefully I would say, that Theo was finally old enough to get a glass of his most refined whiskey, which became at least three glasses, which then led the prat to find me and make me listen to this song by a certain band called <em> Riddikulus</em>.”</p><p>Draco swallows down his saliva, careful not to meet her icy eyes. He starts fidgeting with the forgotten newspaper on the table, folding and unfolding its corners.</p><p>“I don’t have time to go over that ludicrous name right now,” her mouth distorts in a sneer for a second, “because my main concern is what Theo ended up blabbering about in his inebriated state. See, at first it was just inconsequential stuff I simply nodded along to – I am, after all, a gracious host; so imagine my surprise when he mentioned you and Italy and a summer romance and apparently a <em> girl </em> you fell head over heels for and the miserable affair that it was for you to come home because you had to leave <em> her </em> behind.”</p><p>Trying to keep her voice as steady as possible, Pansy is nonetheless shooting words out of her mouth and Draco feels them as if they were bullets aiming for his chest.</p><p>“And at first I thought that maybe my father had been right all those times he had kept Theo off of the whiskey, because there was no way, just <em> no way</em>, that all that happened and you didn’t tell me a single word about it.” Her lips curl up at that, as though just the thought of it is venomous and she has to spit it out. “If there had been something important to say, you would have told me right away, wouldn’t you? But then – oh, this is the good part – then, Nott went and showed me a <em> photograph</em>.” She pulls the newspaper out of his hands and forces him to look at her. “Now. What. <em> The fuck</em>. Was he talking about?”</p><p>Gulping, Draco closes his hand in a fist so tight that his knuckles go white. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it after a few seconds when no sound comes out. He repeats the motion a few times until he realises that he can’t find any words.</p><p>Pansy’s anger deflates a bit, her eyes and voice softening upon seeing him struggle. She reaches for his hand and brushes her fingertips on his skin. “Did Theo make it up? Or is it true?”</p><p>“Be more specific?” he tries, but it comes out too husky to be sarcastic as was his intention.</p><p>“Draco.”</p><p>“It’s true.” He did <em> not </em> miss the lump in his throat that makes him want to scream until his lungs burn, but he forces it down. </p><p>The brunette falls back into her chair at the admission, then grabs her donut and takes a bite, eyes fixed on her friend as she chews. “Why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>“I…” he tries, and when words don’t come out – again – his face falls in his palm. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Pansy doesn’t rush him, eating quietly for a while. “Want to start from the beginning?”</p><p>Draco sags into his chair with a loud sigh and starts telling her everything. How he and Hermione met. How she was a tornado of energy and laughter and curls, taking his breath away with a simple smile or touch of her skin. How he loved listening to her voice while she lost herself in stories about Rome, history, and art. How well their two group of friends integrated and how amazing she was at the gala, enchanting everyone who had the luck to meet her.</p><p>He tells Pansy about Hermione’s gift, how he’s rarely listened to a more talented violinist. How she composes her own pieces, and the way they strike a chord with everyone who listens. He tells her that Hermione deserves to be recognised the same way the most renowned musicians in the world are, that she’s <em> that </em> talented, and how he couldn’t ask her to come back with him for that very reason. He tells her how happy he is about the job Hermione got and how they had to part ways after a night gazing at glow-worms.</p><p>Pansy listens carefully, uncrossing her arms every now and then to finish her drink, green eyes scrutinising him from under her black fringe. Draco keeps his voice even, but she’s known him for far too long not to be able to unveil the smallest, most telling details. Like, for example, his hands staying in his lap under the table. When he’s nervous, Draco picks his cuticles, which is something his father detests so he’s learned to do it without anyone catching on. </p><p>She is also mindful to notice when he looks at her directly in the eyes and when it only <em> looks like </em> he’s looking at her but he’s actually fixating on her fringe or a mole on her cheek: she knows he can’t lie when her eyes bore into his, but she also knows that he hates to give her the certainty that he doesn’t have things under control. And if there is one thing that can bring Draco Malfoy to his knees, it’s unforeseen and unplanned circumstances. </p><p>This Hermione Granger sounds like the perfect proof of that, Pansy muses.   </p><p>“I can’t believe <em> Astoria </em> knew it before I did,” she says a few moments after he’s done.</p><p>“It wasn’t intentional, believe me,” Draco mutters. She gives him a sniff and a noncommittal sound, which tugs his lips up in a small smile. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have called you. I just…” he hesitates, looking for the right words. “I guess I was…” </p><p>“Afraid?” she suggests. This time, he just drives his gaze away. “Of what I might say?” He keeps staying silent, eyes seemingly a thousand miles distant.</p><p>Pansy waits for him to say something for a minute, sighing when he doesn’t. She leans with her elbows on the table and tries to get him to come back to the present. “So, what’s happening now? These aren’t the 20’s, we have phones and the Internet. Are you at least keeping in touch?”</p><p>“We, uh…” Draco begins, but ends up rubbing his hands down his face in resignation. “Kind of. I mean, we text.” He pauses, as though unsure whether to specify something or not. “Sometimes.”</p><p>“Okay,” she nods, “that’s something. And what do you talk about?”</p><p>He grimaces. “We send each other pictures of cats.”</p><p>Pansy blinks. Then, “Please, tell me that’s code for sexting.”</p><p>Draco makes a face, waiting for the blow. “It’s not.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” she says, clasping her hands together with what looks like a laugh on her face but it feels more like she wants to cry from despair. He knows he’s only making things worse for himself but he still mutters that cats are cute. “Not the point, Malfoy.”</p><p>“I think this is the right moment to tell you I got one.”</p><p>“One of what?”</p><p>“A cat.”</p><p>She stares at him. “You got a cat.”</p><p>The blond crosses his arms, feeling like he should defend his decision to adopt a pet. “Zabini moved out and…” he trails off when he realises that, yeah, he doesn’t actually have a good enough reason (especially because he’s never wanted a pet before). He changes tactics and tries to win over Pansy’s academic mind instead. “His name is Apollo.” </p><p>She mutters something under her breath and Draco is almost sure it features the word ‘aristocats’, but he doesn’t really try to make out the sentence. He simply watches as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.</p><p>“You, Draco Malfoy, are so bad at this.”</p><p>“I know,” he says, running his hand through his tousled hair and falling back into his chair.</p><p>“I hope you call each other at least.”</p><p>“I mean.” Another long pause. “I called her for her birthday.”</p><p>“Good!” exclaims Pansy, sensing there’s still something he’s not telling her and trying to get to it. “That’s good. And?”</p><p>“And nothing else. She’s always touring and rehearsing, and now… I don’t know…”</p><p>“<em>See</em>, if you had just <em> told me</em>– social media? Tell me you follow each other on social media.”</p><p>“Yeah, but–”</p><p>Pansy immediately takes her mobile out and thrusts it into his chest. “C’mon. Instagram handle.”</p><p>Draco grabs it with a grunt but types Hermione’s nickname in the search bar. He stares for a second too long at the page, before turning the screen back to Pansy, who scrolls through the pictures. </p><p>“Any comments?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Has she posted anything that could have some kind of relevance to you?”</p><p>Draco stares at her. Right before Pansy can roll her eyes, he sees a photo Hermione posted around mid December. It’s the picture he took of her at the Pincio terrace. He tries his best not to let his eyes linger on it for too long, but his chest still clenches with a mix of nostalgia, fondness and regret.</p><p>“There’s this one. That I took. Back in Rome.” He shows it to her. “She captioned it with song lyrics I guess, you can just…” </p><p>Pansy has already taken the phone back in her hands.</p><p>The line is short and it’s in Italian: <em> Ma forse è questo temporale / Che mi porta da te</em>.</p><p>“But maybe it’s this storm that brings me to you?” she translates on the spot.</p><p>“Yeah, well, it uh…” Draco clears his throat loudly. “It rained that day.” </p><p>His friend looks back at him, jaw set and something in her eyes that makes him feel like he’s done everything wrong since the day he took that damned plane back.</p><p>“It doesn’t mean anything.” Draco feels an unwelcome but unfortunately familiar pressing in his chest, and he’s forced to drink some water in the hopes to melt it away. “It’s just a photo,” he insists. </p><p>He doesn’t really believe it himself.</p><p>As Pansy taps on the screen to look for the original song, he has to rub his eyes because they suddenly sting. He looks back at her when she gasps softly, and he starts feeling his heartbeat growing faster and louder. </p><p>“Please, don’t,” he croaks out.</p><p>“You really should read this, it’s–”</p><p>“Pansy. Don’t.” His hard voice cuts through the air, surprising them both. He hides his trembling fingers under the table. </p><p>It’s not like he’s a complete idiot. He <em> did </em> think about looking for the song, he <em> did </em> want to know the rest of the lyrics. He had been ready to let a thousand different scenarios play out in his mind, ready to find a million different explanations for that precise and unique juxtaposition of picture and words. He had really, <em> desperately</em>, wanted to let impossible thoughts snake into his brain, he had wanted to hear all the voices in his head shouting that it <em> was </em> for him, that she was trying to talk to him, to reach him, to communicate something to him, <em> anything</em>, and that he should have let her know that he got the message.</p><p>But then reality had kicked in, self-pity and self-deprecation had gotten the best of him, and he had shoved all the unforgettable memories to the back of his mind, ignoring the emptiness inside his chest. The very same he’s feeling now.</p><p>Clearing his burning throat, he looks at Pansy, whose lips are slightly parted, brows arched in concern. “It doesn’t mean anything.”</p><p>“<em>It doesn– </em> Lord, help me,” she mutters, putting the phone down and massaging her temples. “Look, you know that sending people ‘hints’ through social media is not what I’d call a sensible use of one’s time, but <em> this</em>? This is a cry for help, Draco! You can’t say it doesn’t mean anything–”</p><p>“Even if it did!” He’s had enough of this conversation. “What am I supposed to do, huh? What, do you think I should hop on a plane and go find her wherever the hell she is right now?” His voice raises at every sentence. “Just drop everything, no matter what I’m doing, no matter what she’s doing, and barge into whatever theatre she’s performing tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after and just… what? Do what?”</p><p>Pansy is unfazed by his outburst, if her perfectly trimmed eyebrow curling up is anything to go by. “The fact that you came up with all that on your own is frustratingly telling, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit. Don’t you think I’ve been thinking about it every second since I left that bloody city?” He can feel the ugly and stinging press of tears in the back of his throat. And he really hates crying in front of Pansy.</p><p>“Then why don’t you just do it?!” She almost smacks a waitress on her cheek when she waves her arms around in exasperation. “It’s not like a solution will miraculously fall from the sky, is it? At some point, you’ve got to move your scrawny little ass and <em> do something</em>,” she says, her voice incredulous at his apparent lack of reason.</p><p>“Because I <em> can’t</em>,” he hisses back.</p><p>“Nothing is stopping you!”</p><p>He scoffs roughly. “That’s not true, and you know it.”</p><p>“Please, don’t tell me it’s your parents. You’re almost thirty.”</p><p>“No, it’s not– look,” he says, pausing and raising his hands to silence the irate woman in front of him. “I couldn’t ask her to come back to London.”</p><p>Pansy stares at him. “Darling, I know your little man-brain is trudging along right now, but I never said you should have.”</p><p>“Don’t make it a man issue.”</p><p>“This is <em> only </em> a man issue. More specifically, it’s a <em> this-one-man </em> issue, which is even worse because we need to add to all those problems the constant existential crisis you carry around! One that would make Kirkegaard faint, if I may add.”</p><p>Draco opens his mouth to argue but, once again, he can’t seem to find the right words to explain the mess of feelings that every day threaten to drag him to the deepest bottom of the ocean.</p><p>Pansy, on top of being one of his closest friends, is a perceptive woman, so she gives him some time to pull himself together upon seeing him on the verge of tears. </p><p>“When was the last time you did something just for the fuck of it?” she asks him gently after a minute.</p><p>He shuts his eyes, sucked back to a sunny afternoon of four months ago, on a bench in front of the Colosseum.</p><p>
  <em> “Do you hear it?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The music of the city.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Close your eyes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Focus. Do you hear it?” </em>
</p><p>His nails dig into his trousers-clad thighs, and he’s surrounded by steam and water.  </p><p>
  <em> “Turn around.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A laugh. “I’m not sure I can handle another round.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “My intentions are pure, I promise.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bright eyes, wet curls and a naked back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “This is your shampoo, right?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Are you sure you’re up to the task?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Always.”  </em>
</p><p>He shakes his head violently. “There’s… there’s the directing thing,” he says, to himself more than in response to Pansy’s question. “And there’s the orchestra. And there are endless hours spent sitting in front of blank musical scores to write something that could be worth selling around. And…” he squeezes his eyes until he sees tiny spots of brightness, and when he opens them he keeps his gaze on his lap. “There’s a plan. There’s been a plan for… ever.”</p><p>“Fuck the plan, Draco!” Pansy shouts, earning surprised glances from other customers. He is pretty sure that she would have slapped him, had he been close enough. “You’ve got to stop putting your whole life into boxes! Let things happen to you, let life happen to you!”</p><p>“The last time I let something happen to me I ended up locking myself in my house for a month straight, doing nothing but watching god-awful movies and playing heart-wrenching songs on the piano,” he hisses sharply, stone-gray eyes boring into hers and making her deflate on the spot. </p><p>Pansy is the speechless one this time. Theo must have forgotten to mention this tiny detail. She’s seen a great deal of emotions cross Draco’s eyes, over the years. And she’s also seen how he always kept them secured in a remote part of his soul, trying his best not to let them overwhelm him. </p><p>If you don’t know him, really know him, Draco could seem cold, unfeeling and aloof. The truth is, he feels too much, he’s always had. He felt too much as a kid, he was reproached for it, and the only outlet he had was pouring his heart into music. He felt too much last summer, and he ended up with a broken heart. It’s just easier to just become one with his stoic facade. His closest friends know this, Pansy knows this. </p><p>And yet, she’s hardly seen so much regret flashing across his disheartened face.</p><p>She hesitates before speaking her mind. “I just don’t understand why you decided to leave her.”</p><p>“I told you, I couldn’t ask her to give up on her dream.”</p><p>“And I told you that that’s not what you should have done. <em> You </em> should have stayed in Rome.”</p><p>His jaw flexes, blinking away traitor tears. “I would have,” he whispers. “If she had asked me to, I would have stayed.”</p><p>Pansy sees his heart break, and she can only imagine it must be as hard as the very first time, if not worse. Her chest clenches painfully for her closest friend, his eyes cast down in regret. </p><p>“She didn’t?” He shakes his head, sniffling. “And you didn’t bring it up?”</p><p>Draco groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “See, that’s exactly the reason why I didn’t tell you. I knew you would have said this.”</p><p>“Well, what else should I be saying!” She <em> is </em> sorry for him; it doesn’t mean she can’t think he’s being obtuse.  </p><p>“I don’t know, maybe talk me out of it?!”</p><p>“You didn’t need to be talked out of it, you needed to be talked <em> into </em> it! I swear to God, the next time I see Blaise and Theo…”</p><p>“I did not need–”</p><p>“If you’d just called me…”</p><p>“I didn’t call you because you would have convinced me to tell her and I was scared shitless of what she would have said if I had asked her if she wanted me to stay.” He doesn’t shout it. It’s simply the truth, finding its way out of his mouth for the very first time, and it’s quiet and sad and it wrecks him.</p><p>The two friends lock eyes and Pansy can see the pain in Draco’s. Actually, she can see it painted all over his features: from his set jaw, to his opened nostrils, to his eyes blinking carefully to keep the tears at bay, to his tight fists. The circles under his eyes have grown darker from the last time she saw him.</p><p>“Why?” she breathes after a long moment.</p><p>“Because…” he opens his hand and flexes his fingers. They long for her, too. “What if she didn’t want me to? What if it was… different for her?”</p><p>“You really believe that?”</p><p>“I don’t know <em> what </em> I believe.”</p><p>She softens her voice, “Draco, you couldn’t have just made up things in your mind.” She’s trying to take his hand when he snaps it out of reach, gesticulating around.</p><p>“What if I did? What if I just read too much into it?”</p><p>“No, you couldn’t have, darling. You’re not that kind of person; this is just you spiralling now.”</p><p>“Maybe I am that kind of person now. Maybe the one time that it really mattered, I read everything wrong, especially after the way everything went to shit– <em> fuck</em>!” Realising what he just said, Draco closes his mouth shut. He can’t take the words back, though.</p><p>Pansy raises her eyebrows as he covers his face with his hands and groans loudly, throwing his head back.</p><p>“Now, what is <em> that </em> supposed to mean?”</p><p>-</p><p>October was ending. The shops had already put out Halloween decorations and every restaurant was offering the pumpkin version of one dish or another. Draco was studying musical scores day and night, his assignments for the directing lessons basically never ending. He was extremely grateful to maestra McGonagall for accepting to teach him, but the woman was very demanding and he was as tense as a viol–</p><p>He was very stressed.</p><p>Aside from that, he had managed to secure a spot as substitute in the London Symphony Orchestra, which was obviously huge and one of the proudest moments of his career as a musician, but also painfully challenging and deeply draining. A whole day would pass by and he would barely realise that he hadn’t done anything else but sit tirelessly at the piano, playing and studying and then playing again and studying again.</p><p>This, of course, meant that he had cut his social interactions to zero. Not that it was that much of a problem: his friends knew him and they knew what to expect when work had to take priority. Besides, he didn’t mind if someone was going to pop up unannounced and just do their stuff at his place while he kept studying his materials. That was actually what would usually happen with Blaise, who visited him regularly when he wasn’t with Luna and even cooked him dinner and made sure Apollo had something to eat when Draco was too busy shouting at the scores in front of him.</p><p>It had become an issue, though, when it came to people he was keeping in touch with only through a tiny screen.</p><p>To be honest, he and Hermione had been talking constantly over the first days of September. They would text, they would send short vocal notes, they would even call each other to watch films together. Sometimes it was a bit awkward or sad, depending on whether one of them would mention their nights together or their most intimate moments, but it worked. Separated by hundreds of miles, they still craved each other’s presence, virtual as it might have been. But then her job had taken up more and more of her time, and their interactions had to be cut down drastically. </p><p>Draco had gone through a rough couple of weeks where he really had to make an effort to crawl out of bed in the morning, until he finally managed to get in touch with McGonagall and started taking lessons from her, which at least gave him a reason to wake up every day. The fact that he threw himself in the project like it was the only thing worth living for wasn’t what one would call healthy, but neither Blaise nor Theo were going to tell him that – they had tried to help him once and it backfired. And Pansy hadn’t come back to London to slap some sense into him yet.</p><p>So, when one rainy October day Hermione had texted him and he replied after a sound twelve hours, bone-tired and head spinning about a thousand different things, he wasn’t really in the right mind to react to certain news. News that he’d hoped never to get. </p><p>She had sent two texts, almost three hours apart one from the other.</p><p>
  <em> hey, everything alright? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> just texting bc i might be able to come to london right after halloween :) maybe we can meet up? </em>
</p><p>Draco had stared at the screen for a long minute. That would have meant seeing her again after… two. Two whole months. His heart had been ready to burst out of his chest at the thought.</p><p>
  <em> Sorry. Swamped with work, I didn’t check my phone </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’d be happy to. You already have details? </em>
</p><p>He had kept blinking at the green bubbles overthinking every word, overthinking the punctuation and the timing, and his breath had caught in his throat when Hermione’s reply appeared shortly after.</p><p>
  <em> brilliant! we should probably fly out from paris on the 1st nov and go to my parents’ house, we’ll stay roughly for a week. you free? </em>
</p><p>He had been about to hit ‘send’ on a text asking her if lunch on the 2nd sounded good, when Apollo jumped on his lap and distracted him. The cat had meowed and nuzzled his stomach until Draco started to stroke its snow-white fur; that’s when his heavy eyes had re-read Hermione’s message and caught a detail. </p><p>A huge, gloriously startling, agonising detail.</p><p>He had deleted the previous text and typed a new one, hesitating for just a moment before sending it.   </p><p>
  <em> We? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> right sorry </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i’m coming with a friend, viktor </em>
</p><p>Viktor.</p><p>Her friend Viktor.</p><p>Who was flying out with her from <em> Paris</em>, of all cities, and who was going to stay with her at her parents’ house.</p><p>Apollo had made a displeased sound and jumped down from his legs.</p><p>“Yeah, I feel you mate.” </p><p>Draco had typed, <em> So you’ll already have company</em>, and was about to send it, when suddenly his long-lost sense of self-preservation stopped the motion of his fingers. His hand drove away from the screen, as if his body was taking harsh control over his deranged mind.</p><p>He really had no place to do or say anything. He and Hermione weren’t <em> anything</em>. Yes, they were friends now, possibly, hopefully, and yes, one could say they were ex lovers, but nothing more. Hermione didn’t owe him anything and he had no right in acting like a jealous arsehole.</p><p>So he had deleted it again.</p><p>Nonetheless, he hadn’t felt like proposing lunch anymore.</p><p>
  <em> I’ll need to check a couple of things with the orchestra, but I’m sure we’ll find a way </em>
</p><p>He had tapped the phone against his closed fist and had thrown it on the sofa before standing up and heading to the fridge. As he opened the door, the screen had lit up with a <em> bip </em> behind him. Apollo had meowed and climbed on the sofa to play with the light.</p><p>Draco had gripped on the refrigerator’s door, looking inside without even registering the food in front of him. He had taken out the first solid thing that smelled nice and then had gone back to the living room to check his phone, grabbing it from under Apollo’s paws.</p><p>
  <em> i didn’t know you played in the orchestra! congrats!! </em>
</p><p>A shadow of a smile had tugged the corner of his lips up, and he was beginning to type his reply when a new message came in.</p><p>
  <em> viktor wants to know if flitwick is still the director? </em>
</p><p>He had immediately dropped the devilish tool and sunk his face into the closest pillow with a throaty growl. Because of course Viktor wasn’t just her <em> friend </em> Viktor.</p><p>Something had boiled inside of him then, a feeling so ugly that he’d felt like crawling out of his own body, so much he had wanted to escape it. He had thrown away the leftover lasagna; everything tasted like rubbish anyway, those days.</p><p>
  <em> Yep, still him </em>
</p><p>Draco had looked at the chat switching from ‘online’ to ‘typing’ for a while. The screen would reduce the brightness every now and then, and he would just brush his pad against it to keep it lit up. Hermione had kept typing and typing and typing, and then it had switched back to ‘online’ until it became ‘last seen 11.54 PM’.</p><p>He had stared at it for what felt like an eternity, ignoring Apollo’s attempts at catching his attention to cuddle. When the nauseating feeling was starting to become more of a tears-inducing one, he had hastily closed the chat and opened his contacts list to call a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time, one who would have solved all Draco’s problems for the night (or made them worse, depending on one’s consideration of alcohol).</p><p>“Crabb? You hear me?” Music was blasting on the other end of the phone, pumping into his ear and making his head throb.</p><p>“Malfoy? I can’t believe it! How’s it going, mate?” the other had shouted back.</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Can’t hear you, mate. Wait– Greg! Come here, look who just called me…” From the receding noise, it had sounded like his friend moved to find the exit door of the club he was at. Meanwhile, Draco had started questioning all of his life choices. He had actually been about to hang up when, “Malfoy, you still there?”</p><p>“Yep, yeah, still here,” he had said as the self-loathing started to grip on his brain. “Where are you?”</p><p>“At the Fabric. You joining us?”</p><p>He had sighed heavily, already regretting whatever would have happened that night. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes.” </p><p>He had grabbed his coat, filled up Apollo’s water and slammed the front door behind him.</p><p>One hour later and his head had gotten used to the dull throbbing pain. The music at the nightclub was loud, the lights were flashing and Draco had no idea how he was still standing after the countless drinks he had swallowed down like they were water. At some point he had found his way out of the luxurious establishment and held himself firmly against a wall while trying to put as much air as possible into his lungs. He had felt his legs failing him, or maybe he’d only realised they weren’t holding him up anymore when his jeans covered arse touched the dirty street. </p><p>If Zabini had been there he would have probably slammed a bucket of ice-cold water on his face. Not before giving him a look full of disdain and disappointment and a five minutes spiel about his embarrassing and truthfully distasteful way of dealing with emotions.  </p><p>But Blaise wasn’t there, and Theo wasn’t there either (that was probably good though, since Draco wasn’t fond of his friend taking the piss out of his misery), so when he had fumbled with his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart even in his intoxicated state, no one had stopped him.</p><p>The call was about to shut off when, tragically, a mumbled, sleepy voice had answered. “Hello?” He had blinked into the void. “Draco?”</p><p>He had hung up.</p><p>Draco had regretted standing up so abruptly, his stomach wanting to empty itself, but he had managed to keep everything down and started walking down the street with no direction in mind. Seconds had passed, or probably centuries, when his mobile rang again in his hand; bleary-eyed, he had looked at the name of the caller written on top of the screen and the flashing sliding button.</p><p>“Draco? Can you hear me? Are you okay? What was that?” Voice clear now, Hermione had sounded worried in his ear.</p><p>“Yeah, yes, I am…” he had floundered, trying to get past the heavy fog of alcohol inside his brain. “Sorry, I uh… must have… sorry…”</p><p>“It’s 3 AM, what are you doing? Where are you?” she went on, her voice still slightly agitated but quieter.</p><p>“I’m uh…” Draco had stopped, rubbing a hand down his face and trying to understand where he was. He had failed. “I’m just out. With some friends.”</p><p>“Is Blaise there? Can I talk to him?”</p><p>“No, it’s other friends, I’m fine. ’s fine. Sorry…” His words were coming out slurred and mumbled and there was a long pause.  </p><p>“Are you drunk?” </p><p>At her sharp voice, he had squeezed his eyes shut and his head had started spinning and pounding at the same time. He was definitely drunk.</p><p>“No, I’m not… I’m fine.” </p><p>“You don’t sound fine.”</p><p>“But I am. I’m…” He had trailed off, and after a long moment his thoughts had caught up with him. Hermione was talking in a very low voice, almost whispering, as if she was… she was… trying not to…</p><p>“Draco?” she called when he had stayed silent for longer than a drunk person should be, if left alone. And, well, when a drunk person is left alone, they’re bound to do thoughtless, ill-advised, unbelievably stupid things.  </p><p>“Are you with him?” </p><p>Hermione had inhaled a deep breath. “With whom?”</p><p>“Don’t play dumb with me, Granger.” He was regretting every word his dry mouth was letting out. Every breath, too, actually. Therefore, he had started to swear at himself in every language he spoke, fluently and not.</p><p>“Draco, stop.” He hadn’t realised he was being loud. “You should call– actually, I’ll call Blaise, okay? And I’ll tell him to come pick you up…”</p><p>“Just bloody answer me, are you with him?” His hand was clenching so hard on the phone that his fingers hurt. It was nothing compared to what his heart was experiencing, though. </p><p>A weary sigh had reached his ears. “Yes.”</p><p>Draco had muttered another string of swearwords and sagged against a street lamp, trying to hold himself up somehow while Hermione was calling him from the other end of the phone. Her voice didn’t soothe him this time. </p><p>No, it was inflicting a thousand cuts through his already bleeding heart. He had fallen down, a crumpled up piece of paper as he laid on the cold, hard ground, trying to hold back his tears. </p><p>“Draco? Are you still there? Can you hear me? Just call someone…”</p><p>“Are you sleeping with him?” His voice was raucous and gruff, and she had surely detected the tearfulness of it, too, but he hadn’t cared.</p><p>“Draco…”</p><p>“Don’t ‘Draco’ me, are you shagging him?”</p><p>“Okay, look, I’ll text both Blaise and Theo, okay? And you can stay on the phone with me while they–”</p><p>“Fuck you, Granger, I don’t need your help! I don’t need <em> you</em>!” His screaming voice had resonated in the quietness of the night and that last, fateful lie had opened the gates of his eyes, letting the tears stream heavily down his face.</p><p>“You’re just on a bender, you need someone to…” In his state, Draco couldn’t hear the hurt in Hermione’s voice. All he had heard was her calm way of dealing with him: by ignoring his outburst and thinking rationally. Which was the umpteenth blow of the night. “Is there a taxi around there? Can you call a taxi?”</p><p>“Are you two together?” he had pushed on, undeterred and, quite frankly, in a very masochistic way, deploring his words the second they came out of his mouth.</p><p>“Draco, just stop it, please...”</p><p>“<em>Are you</em>?” </p><p>“We’re…” she had exhaled shakily, and with a broken voice she had said two words that would have been the end of him, if his heart hadn’t been carved out of his chest already. “We’re just friends.”</p><p>Some remote part of Draco’s brain had tried to take control of his speaking then, while another one was trying to stop him from digging his grave even deeper, but the fumes of alcohol got the best of both.</p><p>“Like we were just friends?” </p><p>He had hated himself instantly.</p><p>Hermione’s answer had arrived after a few interminable seconds of silence. “What is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“You know exactly what that’s supposed to mean,” he had struck back, his voice mean and hostile.</p><p>“This is just… you’re drunk. You’re talking nonsense.”</p><p>“I’m talking perfect fucking sense, Granger, don’t try and find some excuse to get out of this.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” she had breathed.</p><p>
  <em> That you wanted me to stay. </em>
</p><p>“Nothing! I don’t expect anything from you,” he had spat and practically felt her stiffen as though she had been right next to him. And wasn’t it a cruel joke, to be so connected to her, still, after all this time and knowing with disturbing certainty that he would have always felt that tether between them. </p><p>“Then why did you call me at 3 AM of a random weekday?”</p><p>
  <em> Because I miss you. God, I miss you so much I’m falling to pieces without you. </em>
</p><p>“I don’t know. Must’ve gotten the wrong number.”</p><p>She had laughed hoarsely, a sound that would have come to haunt him in his sleepless nights. “Well, if that’s the case then, I guess I won’t keep you any longer and I’ll go back to sleep.”</p><p>
  <em> Don’t go. Don’t leave me. I love you. Don’t go. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, go back to Viktor or whatever the fuck his name is.”</p><p>“I will, don’t you worry about a thing!” she had retorted harshly.</p><p>“Perfect!”</p><p>“Fine!”</p><p>“Fucking excellent!”</p><p>“Great!”</p><p>“Bye!”</p><p>
  <em> Don’t hang up. Please. </em>
</p><p>“Bye!” and the call had ended with a <em> click</em>, a discordant sound compared to the kind of conversation it had just concluded. </p><p>Draco had let out another scream, throwing a kick at a rubbish bin that sent jolts of pain through his whole body, and then had fallen to the pavement, back against the lamp street, fingers pressed on his eyes and body violently shaken by loud, heavy sobs.</p><p>He had stayed there for a while, tears running down his cheeks, his heart beating furiously and trying to catch his breath, until he finally managed to regain control on his vision and unlocked his phone looking for another number.</p><p>A ruffled voice had muttered his name on the other end of the call.</p><p>“Nott? You home?”</p><p>“Fuck is going on?” his friend had mumbled into the phone.</p><p>“Can I…” The words got lodged in his throat and Draco had to clear his throat twice, swallowing down a new lump of tears. “Can I come?”</p><p>He had heard the noise of rustling bed sheets as Theo presumably lifted himself up. “You okay, mate? Should I be worried?”</p><p>“It’s fine, I’m…” he had rubbed his sore eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’ll explain. Can I just… please?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure, of course. I’ll get something ready.”</p><p>Draco had pocketed the mobile and stood up, steadying his breathing as much as he could and wiping away stray tears. He had flagged a taxi that luckily was passing by and gave the driver Theo’s street address.</p><p>-</p><p>“Well, he didn’t tell me about <em> that</em>.”  </p><p>His leg is ticking on the floor, heel strumming a maddening tune, and Pansy's words make him scoff. “Nott is a little shit, but not that kind of little shit.”</p><p>She reaches out to cover his hand with hers. “Look, that doesn’t really mean anything…”</p><p>“Doesn’t it?” Draco snaps.</p><p>“People get together and then they break up, what’s the big–”</p><p>“Yeah, just like we got together and then we broke up,” he interrupts her. “Except that, my dear Pansy, we didn’t even actually ‘get together’ so we didn’t even technically ‘break up’. We were in Rome at the same time and we kissed and we sha–” he cuts himself off and scratches the back of his head, eyes closed shut. He’s not going to let his anger and hurt drag him even lower than where he already is. “And then it was over.”</p><p>Pansy waits for a moment, unsure how to tell him what she knows he needs to hear. She feels as if walking on eggshells: Draco has always been the kind of person who really <em> needs </em> people to tell him if he’s messing something up, and more than once their conversations have been just him venting about the most disparate things and then ending with a “Just tell me what you’d do in my place”. But she’s rarely seen him as beaten up and cross at himself as he is right now, so she’s not sure that rubbing it in is a good idea.</p><p>Still, he needs his voice of reason.</p><p>“You don’t look like it’s over.”</p><p>“Stop pointing out obvious things, please,” he mutters, crossing his arms and sinking into his chair.</p><p>She sighs, straightening herself. “Okay. So… what happened after that? Do you still talk?”</p><p>“I told you,” he shrugs. “Cat pics.”</p><p>She blinks at him. “Are you for real?”</p><p>“You want to see?” he says, already reaching for his phone.</p><p>“No, no, don’t be absurd, I…” she says, another sigh coming out of her lips. She’s really sighing a lot. “Have you talked about it?”</p><p>“There was nothing to talk about,” is Draco’s response.</p><p>“Let’s agree to disagree.”</p><p>“I think…” he groans, restless on the chair. “I think we just pretended it never happened. She must think I don’t even remember it, or something like that. I was smashed anyway.”</p><p>“But you <em> do </em> remember it.”</p><p>“That’s hardly the point.”</p><p>“Draco, you’re going to drift apart if you keep going on like this.” Maybe some tough love is what he really needs, at this point.</p><p>“Maybe that’s just for the better.”</p><p>She scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t go on like this, can I?” he says, opening his arms in resignation.</p><p>“Of course you can’t, that’s why you need to do something!”</p><p>“No. That’s why I’ll just wait until it passes.” Draco says this like he’s explaining maths. Two plus two equals four, three multiplied by two equals six, and if he just waits long enough his feelings will disappear.</p><p>Pansy looks at him in disbelief. What an idiot. He’s really testing her patience.  </p><p>“Your life is not a heart-shattering tv show, Malfoy.”</p><p>He gives her a weary laugh. “You sure about that?”</p><p>Tough love is <em> absolutely </em>what he needs. “It will not pass,” she tells him with a firm voice and stern eyes boring into his.</p><p>“Let’s agree to disagree.” He has the nerve to wink at her, the tosser.</p><p>“You’ll drive yourself insane.”</p><p>“Thanks, but I think I’ve managed somehow–” he starts, but Pansy is really fed up.</p><p>“Have you looked in the mirror, lately? Because you don’t look like you’ve <em> managed</em>.”</p><p>“Listen, I–”</p><p>“No, Draco, <em> you </em> listen,” she says, reaching across the table to turn his face towards her. “Look at me. <em> Listen</em>. Do you love her?” He groans, trying to escape the grip she has on his chin, but Pansy is not letting go. Fingers pressed into his cheek, she makes sure he can’t escape easily. “Answer me. Do you?”</p><p>“Since when are <em> you </em> the romantic type?”</p><p>“Since you’re literally turning into a skeleton because you apparently still think that denying yourself happiness is the right thing to do. <em> Do. You. Love. Her</em>?” She feels his jawbone clench under her palm.</p><p>“That’s not the point,” he repeats, eyes hard and voice throaty.</p><p>“That’s the only point.”</p><p>“No, it’s not. Because,” he says, grabbing her wrist to take her hand off of him, “sometimes, love isn’t enough.”</p><p>Pansy widens her eyes, unable to keep a confounded sound from coming out of her mouth. “Are you listening to yourself?”</p><p>Draco checks the time and grabs the tray the waiter left on the table, piling plates and cups on it. “It’s true, and this whole situation just proves it.”</p><p>She tries to find his eyes again but he’s intent on running away from hers. “I thought you left cynical-Draco behind when you walked out of your teenage years.”</p><p>“I’m not being cynical, it’s just the reality of things.”</p><p>She keeps looking at him for a long minute, trying to shape a speech in her mind. She could go on with a very long one about what he thinks he deserves and what he really deserves, about letting go of self-imposed restraints and accepting that life can simply give him something good; but something in the way his throat keeps swallowing on nothing makes her decide to go with the short version.</p><p>“I think you’ll make the biggest mistake of your whole life if you don’t tell her.”</p><p>Draco puts down a teaspoon with a loud sigh. He looks at the coffee grounds inside his cup for a long moment, waiting for them to show him something. When they don’t, he hangs his head. </p><p>“I think I’ll have to learn to live with that.”</p><p>-</p><p>When he finally opens the front door of his flat after a long day at work, it’s pretty late in the evening and the sun has been down for hours already. He switches the light on right before stumbling on Apollo, who has quietly walked to the door as soon as he heard it opening and now is rubbing against his legs.</p><p>“Hey, mate, careful over there,” Draco tells him, squatting to pick him up once he takes off his coat and shoes. “Did you eat?” He scratches the top of his head and heads to his bowls next to the balcony. There is some water and some kibble left, and a post-it note on the window. “Yes, you ate, ‘cause Zabini popped by, didn’t he? One of these days he’s going to take you with him.”</p><p>Apollo meows and purrs under his hand.</p><p>“Yeah, I know you prefer me. Did he leave something to eat for me as we– ah,” there’s another post-it note on the fridge door telling him how to heat up the shepherd’s pie he would have found inside. Draco looks at the cat in his arms. “Maybe he’s going to take me back, too.”</p><p>With a last purr, Apollo pushes on his arm and jumps down. Biting his lower lip, Draco looks at his pet stretch and walk away. “Careful with the Christmas tree,” he tells him. “Mother is really proud of it.” He groans as he opens the fridge and takes the food out. He’s really having entire conversations with a <em> cat</em>.</p><p>He turns the oven on as well as the tv, zapping through the channels until he finds the news and leaves it on as background noise. He checks his emails and answers a couple of texts, trying his best to ignore the fact that the last messages he exchanged with Hermione date back to two weeks before. </p><p>After a few minutes the pie is ready and he gets comfortable on the sofa to eat, thanking God Zabini is a full-on parent who knows how to cook delicious meals. He’s still not paying much attention to the journalists giving the latest updates about politics and the weather.</p><p>Then, two things happen.</p><p>Firstly, Draco does a stupid thing.</p><p>He picks up his phone and types in the Internet search bar the line Hermione used in her photo caption.</p><p>He finds that it’s a lyric from a song called <em> Fai Rumore</em>, and he plays it. He pauses it ten seconds later because the piano melody feels like a punch right in his gut. But apparently he’s intent on taking as many steps back as possible tonight, so he plays the song again from the beginning and he even goes back to the lyrics page to follow the words.</p><p>Which was a really, <em> really </em> stupid thing to do, because he finds out that the line following Hermione’s caption reads <em> E lo so, non dovrei farmi trovare / senza un ombrello, anche se / Ho capito che / per quanto io fugga / torno sempre a te</em>, and then he also finds out that the song goes on saying <em> E faccio finta di non ricordare / E faccio finta di dimenticare</em>, which is staggering and mind-blowing and leaves him gasping for air for longer than he wants to admit.</p><p>Not only that, but eventually he understands the meaning of the song: the singer is not comparing the missing loved one to <em> noise</em>, no; he’s saying that the noise around him comes from the unnatural silence that lingers between the two former lovers. Which leads to another realisation: both silence and noise are the opposite of music and harmony. </p><p>As the melody builds on through the phone’s speaker, Draco is knocked over by an overwhelming feeling that, in his mind, takes the shape of Hermione’s wide eyes (beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes) as he tells her that music is made of infinites and she holds infinites inside of her and that <em> she </em> is music; and then that feeling shape-shifts into the unbearable weight of guilt and regret for not having told her the one thing he should have had.</p><p>And then, as though it were a sign from above (whether it was good or bad, that’s the arduous verdict that posterity will declare), something else happens.</p><p>“In other news, someone put a piano right at the steps of the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, next to the Christmas tree, and the Internet has been overflowing with videos of people playing the most random tunes. Do you reckon some of them might have a chance in the Orchestra, Dolores?” the blonde lady at the desk on tv says with a bright smile on her face, as the screen splits and shows several people sitting on the piano stool and playing.</p><p>“I think there’s still a long way for that, Rita,” the brunette next to her laughs. “Although I would say that what’s important is that the instrument was placed there to attract people to the latest of the National Gallery’s events, created in collaboration with the Royal College of Music, that’s set to launch a new, immersive experience in art and music…” Dolores goes on, but Draco is not listening anymore, an idea flashing into his mind. </p><p>He immediately closes all the Internet tabs and dials Theo’s number, impatiently tapping on his thigh when it keeps ringing without an answer.</p><p>“Come on, pick up, you prick.”</p><p>“Hello to you, too, Draco!” a cheerful voice answers, making him silently swear.</p><p>“Sorry, Jordan, I thought…” he winces. “Did I get the wrong number?”</p><p>“Nope, Theo is just under the shower and I picked up,” the other man says easily. “Everything alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, I just need to ask him something. But I can call in a bit...”</p><p>“<em>Lee? Who is it? </em>” he hears Theo’s muffled voice ask on the other end of the call.</p><p>“It’s Draco!” Lee shouts back, and then says something else but the sound is muffled. Draco is tapping quicker: it’s already pretty late and he wants to do this tonight, before he can chicken out. “You’re on speaker, mate,” Lee resumes after a moment.</p><p>“Malfoy?”</p><p>“Nott, there you are,” Draco squeezes his eyes. This has to be quick. “Look– I was watching the news and…”</p><p>“<em>That’s </em> news,” Theo snorts, Lee chuckling next to him.</p><p>“Not the time,” Draco cuts short. “Listen, there’s a piano in the middle of Trafalgar Square.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, I’ve been seeing videos all day.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>There’s a pause. “And?”</p><p>Draco groans. “You remember about that thing you said? With Instagram?”</p><p>“Oh, the pianist account?” Lee chips in.</p><p>“Yes, yep, the pianist account. You remember?” Draco stresses on.</p><p>“Yeah, and I also remember you said you didn’t have time and you weren’t feeling up for it.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Let’s go to the piano, you come with me, I play, you film me and put it online.” Draco can’t see him but he’s sure Theo is frowning.</p><p>“Am I missing something here? What’s going on?”</p><p>
  <em> I think you’ll make the biggest mistake of your whole life if you don’t tell her. </em>
</p><p>The way Pansy has always been able to act as his personal Jiminy Cricket is honestly quite infuriating. He could also kiss her right now, though, that’s how high on adrenaline he’s feeling.</p><p>“Nothing’s going on, I just… this made the <em> news</em>. I think you might be r–” yeah, well, let’s not exaggerate. “You might be onto something.” Both Theo and Lee snigger when he stops himself in the middle of the phrase, but he doesn’t even mind at this point. “Come on, do you have anything else to do?”</p><p>The two men on the other end of the phone mutter something he can’t quite understand. Then, “Alright, mate. See you there in twenty minutes. I’ll make the Instagram account.”</p><p>-</p><p>It’s freezing cold, the square is full of people even if the clock is ticking towards 11 PM, and a small crowd is gathered around the piano. Someone is playing a Christmas song relatively well, but the notes sound a bit off; maybe they’re wearing gloves. Not that Draco can blame them: he’s jumping from one leg to the other waiting for Theo and Lee to arrive, doing whatever he can to beat the cold.</p><p>They appear after a few minutes, bickering about something. Typical them; it makes Draco smile. Lee is trying his best to put his scarf around Theo’s neck, who, on the other hand, is leaning out of his reach telling him that no, thank you, he doesn’t need a scarf, it’s not <em> that </em> cold.</p><p>“When you catch a cold don’t come crying to me, then. Oh, hi, Draco!” Lee waves at him as Theo rolls his eyes when they join the blond.</p><p>Draco greets them and then immediately addresses the issue at hand. “Done?” he asks Theo.</p><p>“Yes,” his friend sighs. “But if your goal is to reach a certain She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, there are easier ways…”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco doesn’t want to see whatever face he’s sure Theo is going to make so he turns on his heels to march towards the piano.</p><p>As soon as the former player stands up and takes the scattered applause, he hurries to the stool and sits down. The moment his weight rests on the seat, he exhales at once.</p><p>When his fingers brush the keys, Draco realises that he has no idea what to do. Theo’s idea of filming him playing the piano wasn’t bad, and having social media presence can definitely help him in expanding his chances when it comes to getting music managers to know him, but now… as the 88 keys look back at him, he feels like all the music he’s ever known has slipped out of his mind.</p><p>
  <em> “You know, if you flip two eights, you get two inf–” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Two infinites.” </em>
</p><p>Scratch that, he’s been feeling like this ever since he left Ro–</p><p>He squeezes his eyes shut and presses down on some chords, letting the music flow from his hands. </p><p>Draco doesn’t know what he’s playing. He visualises the notes running in front of him, the melody broken up into a thousand different small pieces, and re-plays them dutifully, without messing up a single one, the tune smooth and precise. He hears the crowd around him gasp slightly when he gets to the more difficult bits, but it does nothing to him.</p><p>It’s just noise.</p><p>(<em>E non ne voglio fare a meno, oramai / Di quel bellissimo rumore che fai</em>)</p><p>The crowd’s background buzz and the piano’s music is just noise.</p><p>He makes them feel the passion of the song, but he gets nothing out of it.</p><p>The piece ends and a crashing applause erupts in the square, and he gets nothing out of it.</p><p>This isn’t what he wanted. But <em> what </em>did he want?</p><p>He turns to the audience, managing a small smile. “Requests?”</p><p>People start muttering things to one another, a loud whisper running through the growing gathering. Someone suggests a Christmas song, but Draco kindly turns it down asking for something more original; someone else makes the name of a classical piece, but Draco pretends to groan asking for something that can make the youths sing.</p><p>“Can <em> you </em> sing?” someone shouts. He turns towards the voice trying to find who it belongs to. When he does, for a heart-stopping second he’s sure that the girl who spoke is Hermione; but it lasts just for the moment it takes his eyes to recognise the woman’s curls as not <em> hers</em>. They’re several inches shorter and a few shades lighter.</p><p>“I can try.”</p><p>“Do you know <em> Supercut </em> by Lorde?”</p><p>“It’s not a piano song.”</p><p>“You sound like a professional and a good one at that. Surprise us, if you dare,” she smirks.</p><p>Draco scoffs, rubbing his hands together to heat them up. “What’s your name?”</p><p>“Rose.”</p><p>“Rose… did you go through a breakup as of recently?”</p><p>“He’s gone completely bonkers,” Theo whispers to Lee, his phone still up to film.</p><p>“Maybe,” Rose shrugs, but Draco can see fresh pain in her eyes. “How about you?”</p><p>His lips curve in a sad smile. “Do you sing, Rose?”</p><p>“You said <em> you </em> would try,” she answers, a playful grin brightening her features.</p><p>“Yeah, well,” he tilts his head to the side, “maybe two broken hearts sound better together.”</p><p>Some people in the audience clap and yell the girl’s name, encouraging her as she walks towards Draco with her arms open in resignation. He stands up, shakes her hand and introduces himself when she’s in front of him, cocooned in a dark red coat and matching winter headband. Her eyes are a lovely shade of green and her cheeks are rosy from the cold. He was right: her curls are dark blonde and loose. She’s very pretty. </p><p>He sits back on the stool and cracks his fingers.</p><p>The notes fill the air immediately, followed by an applause that warms Rose up, and she starts singing along shortly after. Draco’s eyes are fixed on his frozen hands, doing his best to keep them moving through the music fluidly. The girl’s voice is clear and strong and she drags the words right out of her memories, and that’s when Draco knows what he wanted. What he needed.</p><p>An urge he tried so hard to ignore over the past few months, when he just let everything and everybody else overbear him so that he couldn’t have the time nor the strength to think about anything outside of work or the need to feed himself.</p><p>To let the hurt out.</p><p>Rose begins slowly, as though singing a lullaby, quietly harmonising the first words, and, nevertheless, they hit like fire arrows right where the pain is most unbearable. </p><p>
  <em> All the magic we gave off </em>
</p><p><em> All the love we had and lost </em> </p><p>She charges the words with the same passion Draco is putting into the music and, this time, the melody doesn’t sound like noise.</p><p>He closes his eyes, Rose’s singing streaming into his ears, and he sees the supercut right on the black canvas of his eyelids. </p><p>It’s much like that one last time when he and Hermione played together at Ginny’s, except that, this time, he has the certainty of what he lost and he knows how he feels without Hermione.</p><p>Like missing a limb.</p><p>Like missing an internal organ.</p><p>Like missing a feeling he once knew all too well.</p><p>Like his heart is pumping blood for a lifeless body.</p><p>Like one single cloud is constantly looming over him, blocking out the sun from his life.</p><p>Like he had someone to lose for the very first time and now they just fell apart, all because he couldn’t find it in himself to do the brave thing.</p><p>He hates it. He hates himself for it. He hates that he needs her this much, he hates that he misses her this much, he hates that he loves her this much, and he hates that it’s all so overwhelming that he’s not even able to put it into words.</p><p><em> In my head I do everything right</em>, and Draco pictures a different, maybe parallel reality in which he wasn’t afraid, and in which they got to be together.</p><p><em> When you call I’ll forgive and not fight</em>, and Draco thinks about that last phone call that doomed whatever it was that was going on with them.</p><p><em> Because ours were the moment I play in the dark / We were wild and fluorescent</em>, and he sees it all, he sees all the different shades of emotions that her face displays, he sees her in the sun, in the moonlight, hair up, hair down, smiling, biting her lip, screaming, staring, dancing, playing, laughing, talking, walking, kissing him, hugging him, surrounded by glow-worms, surrounded by art, in the sunset, alone in her bed that morning when he left.</p><p>There is not a day, not a night, not a minute that passes by without him wishing he’d turned around. Draco spent years trying to understand Orpheus’ story, the musician’s need to check that the love of his life was really behind him and coming back to the realm of the living with him– and when he finally did, he still played the part of the snob teenager who loathes love and doesn’t need anyone else in his life. What a fool.</p><p>Come to think about it, though, what he did was even worse. He channeled all his energies into going on with his non-choice, because he knew – and he knows – that, had he turned around, he would have stayed.</p><p>He would have texted Blaise and Theo, and he would have told them he was staying.</p><p>He would have called his parents, and he would have told them he was staying.</p><p>He would have waited for the morning to go to the kitchen and make breakfast, he would have probably changed his mind and gone out to get two maritozzi from Gianni, and then he would have smiled at Hermione when she came out of the bedroom, inevitably shocked and confused and worried, and he would have told her he was staying.</p><p>Because there was no way, <em> no way</em>, that she didn’t feel the same about him. There was no way that a piano had randomly appeared in the middle of a forgotten square in Trastevere for them not to end up together. </p><p>There was no way Rome hadn’t worked her magic.</p><p>And she would have told him he was crazy, and he would have agreed, and then she would have thrown herself at him, she would have kissed him and he would have kissed her back – deeply, breathlessly, desperately – and they would have laughed and cried and eaten and they would have made love and they would have spent the rest of their lives together, because it was just <em> right </em> and, deep down, he <em> knew it</em>.</p><p>If he had just had the courage of his convictions.</p><p>If he had just had the strength to realise what he already knew at the right moment.</p><p>If he was Orpheus and she was Eurydice, there was still one, huge difference in their stories: Draco <em> had </em> to turn around. That was his mission.</p><p>But, just like Orpheus, he failed it.</p><p>Twice, he failed it: when he walked out and, before that, when he couldn’t even admit the undeniable to himself.</p><p><em> Come home to my heart</em>.</p><p>Rose finishes the song and Draco is pulled from his thoughts. He quickly stands up to clap with the rest of the crowd, doing his best to ignore the way every breath he takes burns with regret and sad anger for his own weakness. They both bow to the audience and then she turns to hug him.</p><p>He catches a glimpse of her smile, and, if glimpses were all he was getting, she could almost pass for… </p><p>“Not too bad for two broken hearts,” she says as her gloved hand rubs his spine over his coat. He chuckles, letting her go, and then he finds Theo in front of them, eyes sparkling and fingers tapping on the phone. His friend quickly explains the project to Rose and asks her if she’s okay with him posting the video, and Draco realises that, maybe, <em> Supercut </em> by Lorde isn’t the best choice for an impartial beginning.</p><p>And he would have told Theo that, if his mobile hadn’t beeped right in that moment, distracting him. He takes it out of his pocket and what he sees is an Instagram notification: one of those that arrive when the app hasn’t been opened for a couple of days. <em> Your friend just posted something</em>.</p><p>Hermione just posted something.</p><p>Draco slides it open, knowing damn well that he should ignore it and move on. Learn how to live with it. Like he told Pansy he would do.</p><p>It’s a photo geotagged in Budapest of a Christmas tree and a tall young man in front of it, short dark hair and thick eyebrows, smiling openly at the camera. Captioned ‘He told me to write Santa came early’.</p><p>Draco stares at it.</p><p>He stares and stares and stares, everything around him becomes muffled white noise in his ears and the burn intensifies, digging a fire-shaped hole right in the middle of his chest and it’s a moment he will never forget because nothing will ever hurt like this. </p><p>The story of her life keeps unfolding in front of him in his pocket-size screen, and it’s disconcerting to realise that he doesn’t belong in it anymore. He maybe had a place in it, at a certain point, and he let the chance to secure it in its very heart slip beyond his reaches. Now he can’t even beg, let alone hope, for footnotes or acknowledgments.</p><p>But he made his choice. For a thousand different and all equally wrong reasons, but he still did.</p><p>So, can he really blame her?</p><p>“Malfoy? Draco? Oi!” Theo shakes him out of his trance with a firm shrug on his shoulder. “Should I post it now?”</p><p>
  <em> Slow motion, I’m watching our love </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, go on.”</p><p>He asks Rose for her phone number.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- <i>E lo so, non dovrei farmi trovare / senza un ombrello, anche se / Ho capito che / per quanto io fugga / torno sempre a te</i>: And I know I shouldn’t be found / without an umbrella, even though / I realised that / however much I run away / I always come back to you<br/>
- <i>E faccio finta di non ricordare / E faccio finta di dimenticare</i>: And I pretend I don’t remember / And I pretend to forget<br/>
- <i>E non ne voglio fare a meno, oramai / Di quel bellissimo rumore che fai</i>: And now I don’t want to do without / That beautiful noise you make</p><p>-</p><p>Okay, we’re almost at the en– nope. Won’t say it.<br/>
Sorry for the angst? No, actually, we’re not sorry. Or well, we apologise but it was worth it, we know you know it, and <i>yes</i>, we cried while writing this chapter. A lot.<br/>
The Italian lyrics are from an incredible song called <i>Fai Rumore</i> (Make Noise) by Diodato, and you can see the music video at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPv9ZPXmFWU">this link</a>. Since it was supposed to be Italy’s song at Eurovision 2020, you can also find the translation easily enough, if you’re interested in it! It’s really heart-wrenching and we think it fits perfectly where Draco and Hermione are at right now. Which is... well, not exactly a good place.<br/>
We also put it in the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HGyKt9sCCNTn7KAP5xibw?si=t67yYdpeRZauqsaANw9ZZg">fic playlist</a>, along with <i>Supercut</i> by Lorde. By the way, if you want to hurt yourself, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkmEdcNqqMg">here</a> is a piano version of the latter with no lyrics, which is what we like to think Draco and Rose’s performance sounded like.<br/>
We hope you liked this chapter and that you cried with us &lt;3 we’re incredibly emotional, chapter 10 is basically done but we keep adding things because we want to make it perfect (and also because we really don’t want to let it go [sniff]).<br/>
And the usual See You Soon: catch us on twitter as <a href="https://twitter.com/blkegrffn13">@blkegrffn13</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/fleablck">@fleablck</a> and we’ll see you next week for the final chapter of this wonderful journey!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. τῇ καλλίστῃ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i><b>Tēi Kallístei</b></i> is the inscription that Eris, the goddess of discord, wrote on the golden apple she tossed in the midst of the feast of the gods at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis as a prize of beauty, thus sparking a vanity-fueled dispute among Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, which eventually led to the Judgment of Paris and the Trojan War. It literally means “To the most beautiful”.</p>
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<hr/><p>Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) is one of those people who just <em> love </em> surprises.</p><p>She loves to receive them and she loves to make them. She used to be the kid who got overly excited for Christmas because she couldn’t wait to find out what was inside all of those coloured wrappings. Then she grew up to become the kind of person who sends presents to her friends without there being a special occasion for it, simply because she loves to see their reactions at such simple, yet unusual, gestures.</p><p>Even her then-boyfriend, now husband, Lucius had to realise, at a certain point, that she was <em> really </em> into big and out of the blue celebrations, therefore he had made it his mission in life to become the master of them. Too bad Narcissa also had an unbelievable talent for uncovering secret operations, so organising surprise-parties wasn’t exactly a piece of cake. But love works in mysterious ways; and, in the end, Lucius had become a real expert.</p><p>Draco, too, knows how much his mother loves surprises; so much so that, for one, when he finally found that one present she had asked for in Rome, he’d also thrown another little thing in the mix, just because he knew she would have been overjoyed. Generally, if someone had to organise a surprise, whether it was big or small, they would go to him for advice: he was pretty good at these kinds of tactics. It was, after all, the love language his parents showed him growing up.</p><p>Sometimes, he would also take the reins of the planning and would throw the parties for his friends himself (which varied from the classical birthday ones to the congrats-on-your-firing ones– odd people, his lot). And then, obviously, he was a wizard when it came to replaying these schemes on his girlfriends.</p><p>Probably, if one had to catalogue his surprises, the prize for best one would go to the one involving a summer night and glow-worms. He doesn’t like to linger on that though.</p><p>Despite all of this (or maybe precisely because of it), Draco hates surprises.</p><p>He is a master when it comes to organising them, but should you try and pull a surprise on him? You’d be lucky if he didn’t obliterate you on the spot.</p><p>“I hate surprises.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly, darling, you don’t hate surprises.” Naturally, Narcissa keeps just casually forgetting about this one detail of her son’s personality.</p><p>“Oh, so now I don’t even get to know if I do or don’t like surprises?”</p><p>The woman huffs, fiddling with the lock of her handbag and checking her nail polish, then turns on the backseat to look at Draco. “Why do you always have to be like that?”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Just… that,” she says gesturing at him, a tad of exasperation in her voice. “You could let me have it.”</p><p>“I <em> am </em> letting you have it, mum. And <em> you </em> could just tell me where we’re going at this point since I’m already dressed up and in the car with you,” he retorts, modulating his voice in his best calm tones. “You think I’m going to open the door and just roll out on the street?”</p><p>“Well, darling, knowing your liking for dramatics I wouldn’t totally exclude it.”</p><p>Draco groans and lets his head fall back on the beige leather headrest.</p><p>With a light chuckle, Narcissa turns to the car window to look at the passing English landscape. She can already spot London’s skyline in the distance. The car cabin is filled with some pop notes coming from the radio on the other side of the partition.</p><p>“How is Rose?” she asks after a short while. Draco, if possibly, groans even louder. “Odd answer.”</p><p>“You know, you could just tell me where we’re going, instead of asking random questions about my life.” He straightens himself and looks at his mother sideways, brows slightly furrowed. He <em> really </em> doesn’t like surprises.</p><p>“But I’m interested in your life, sweetheart,” she ignores him, stretching a hand to pat on his knee.</p><p>“Are you not telling me because it’s something worrisome? Should I be worried?” he pushes, suddenly contemplating the worst-possible case scenarios.</p><p>“My goodness, no, love, it’s nothing to worry about!” Narcissa exclaims with an expression that clearly indicates that she was right in calling out his dramatic antics. She lets go of his leg, then, and adjusts the rings on her fingers. “Should <em> I </em> be worried about something?” she asks, glancing at him, “Since you’re not answering my question?”</p><p>“This is...” another groan, “You could just <em> tell me</em>.” His mother keeps ignoring him, carefully untangling some bracelets on her slender wrist. Rubbing his eyes and stifling another animalesque verse, Draco claps his hands together.</p><p>“Well, if you must know,” he says with a sigh, “Rose and I broke up.” She makes a face. “What? You already knew. I came to Marlborough alone.”</p><p>At the beginning of the week, Draco joined his parents at their second home for his birthday. They always made sure to celebrate together, despite all of their engagements, so he had organised his schedule to make sure he could spend the 5th of June at their country house. It’s a family tradition, which means he just appeared there the night before his birthday, thus managing to avoid the awkward call that would have needed him to say out loud that Rose wouldn’t be coming. His father didn’t say much upon seeing it was just him at the doorstep, and Narcissa let it slide as well. But Draco knew the question was underway.</p><p>“I liked her,” his mother comments quietly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Draco exhales. “I liked her, too.”</p><p>Things with Rose had started out almost playfully. Pansy had called it a ‘rebound bang’ when he first told her, which had made Draco stand up immediately and walk away while she kept shouting that, hey, she was just stating facts, and that she was sure that this Rose girl was a lovely person– the issue was, as per usual, <em> him</em>, not her, but eventually Pansy had to stand up and run after him to get the documents he was supposed to give her.</p><p>Anyway, despite the comments from his friends (or non-comments, in Zabini’s case, who just kept repeating that he didn’t say anything, ignoring Draco when he retorted that the point was precisely that he was being awfully quiet), Rose and Draco had gotten officially together shortly after the beginning of the new year. It was a quiet thing, what they had, given how reserved both of them were and busy with work. </p><p>At the beginning, it was mostly two people enjoying each other’s company, in and out of bed; soon, though, date nights became breakfasts in bed and lunch dates became weekends spent at museums or the park or snuggling on the sofa. By March, Rose had met all of Draco’s friends and family. She had spent the Easter holidays with him, too, which made Narcissa really happy, and even Lucius had managed to convey something close to enjoyment whenever he exchanged words with her. She really was a lovely girl.</p><p>“Then, what happened?” asks Narcissa. Her son has never really been too open about his relationships (those that counted, at least), which is also why she’s not really surprised that he didn’t tell her they broke up. But things seemed… well, good. </p><p>“Nothing major,” Draco mutters, head thrown over the headrest. “It just… it wasn’t… you know,” he waves his hand around before rubbing his cheek, self-conscious.</p><p>Narcissa looks at him as his gaze gets lost in the surroundings; sometimes she still asks herself when, exactly, he grew up. Did she miss it?</p><p>“Is she okay?”</p><p>“Oh, no, yes, she’s fine. It was mutual, really,” Draco says, looking at her. “Seriously, it’s fine, it’s really… fine.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Don’t look at me like that.”</p><p>“I’m not looking at you in any way,” Narcissa tells him, her eyes once again focused on adjusting her already perfect jewellery.</p><p>“That’s…” He shifts on his seat, loosening his tie a little. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘You’re almost thirty, I want to be a grandma, I don’t know why you’re still looking for the adolescent thrill and not settling down’. Am I wrong?”</p><p>She smiles slightly. “I haven’t said any of those words, dear.”</p><p>“But you are <em> thinking </em> them.”</p><p>“Well,” Narcissa says, clasping her hands together, “you are twenty six and I would love to have grandchildren before I get too old.”</p><p>“See!” he exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Should have thought about it when you decided to stop at me, a second child would have given you more satisfaction,” he grumbles, slouching back into his position, arms folded and a pout on his lips.</p><p>Narcissa laughs. “You’re always so overly theatrical, Draco.” He mutters something under his breath but she lets it go, refocusing on what he said earlier instead. “I never said anything about a thrill, though. Or, you know, <em> thought</em>, anything,” she gives him a meaningful look, anticipating his remark.</p><p>Draco shoots a dirty look at her and– there it is. The kid who never grew up.</p><p>When he was really little, about three years old, Draco had a blanket that he loved more than his own life. It was one of those plushy blankets made especially for kids, white with some drawings on the external side, and he used to bring it with him everywhere he went. The first time they washed it he got so mad that he cried for two days straight, just because it had lost its original smell. It was a simple blanket, that throughout the years collected stains of whatever was around him – let it be food sauce or mud from the park – and that came apart at the seams, so much it was overused. Nonetheless, little Draco just refused to let go of it. </p><p>Lucius had tried to bribe him with new toys, which was actually a smart move, as it worked with most kids; but it didn’t work with him. Narcissa started suspecting that this almost obsessive attachment was a shade of character that was manifesting through child feelings; and, well, she wasn’t wrong. Even though she had no idea, at the time, that Draco would have grown up to become the kind of person that prefers suppressing his feelings to prevent them from overwhelming him.</p><p>Eventually, something unexpected happened. One day, the legs of little Draco, which weren’t so chubby anymore, found their way to the white piano sitting in a corner of the large living room and he left his beloved blanket on the closed lid before starting to press and play with the keys. To his parents’ surprise and delight, he stopped carrying it around everywhere he went, as long as it was somewhere on the piano while he played. </p><p>It took an incredible effort to convince their son to part from his most beloved possession for good; he was about to turn six by then. They swore up and down that it had been way easier to get him to stop using a dummy.</p><p>Growing up, Draco got more and more reserved about his feelings, and all that was left for Narcissa to do was looking at him and analysing his reactions to events, trying and hoping to get something out of them. The outcome wasn’t always ideal, given how he was really a master in hiding whatever he didn’t want other people to know, but she had some kind of hunch about all the unsaid he was keeping from her. She had decided to respect this part of him, though, and never pried more than necessary. </p><p>Besides, Lucius was as sure as he was about the sun rising from the East that Draco would have ended up married to the youngest Greengrass, which meant he told his wife not to worry about their son not sharing anything about what he considered to be fleeting relationships. (Narcissa had to hide her knowing grin when Draco finally informed them without ambiguity that he never intended to pursue Astoria in that way.) </p><p>With Rose, things seemed to be different. Draco looked happy with her. Maybe not exaggeratedly happy, not in its most fulfilling and all-round sense, but… content, serene; like something in him was finally starting to thaw, bit by bit. And it seemed as though it would last. Narcissa had even thought that, maybe, he was letting go of that need for attachment that had always left him bruised, or at least it looked like he was not hiding it as much. Draco had suppressed that part of him for so long that, eventually, it changed his character and he ended up shaping his life around that pretence. After all, he was good at creating schedules and sticking to them.</p><p>But, now, this remark about the ‘thrill’ and the mixed expression in his eyes that looked so much like something Narcissa would see splayed all over his face when someone dared touch his favourite blanket… it is safe enough to say that she knows there are things he’s withholding from her. She’s had this feeling for quite some time now.</p><p>Reaching out to his arm, she straightens the sleeve of his black shirt. “It’s not a bad thing to look for the thrill, you know.”</p><p>Draco scratches his short nails, looking as if he’s pondering the next words. His mouth opens to speak, but then closes. He draws in a deep breath and, “What if I just know I can’t get the thrill?”</p><p>Her hand lingers on his shoulder. “How do you mean?”</p><p>“Just…” he exhales heavily, biting his lip. “Say the thrill is out of my reach. Shouldn’t I just be happy with whatever comes close enough?”</p><p>From the look in his piercing grey eyes, buried deep in hers, to the clenching of his set jaw, everything in his face is screaming that this is not about Rose and that there is a lot he’s not saying, that he <em> can’t </em> say, but he just hopes his mum can guess it. After all, don’t mothers have some kind of intuitive magic?</p><p>Narcissa cups his cheek. “Darling, I wish you were the kind of person who settles for enough. Life would be so less painful for you.” Her thumb strokes his cheekbone for a few seconds, and it’s so easy for her to see the kid who always loved too much in his troubled features. She’d thought he would never resurface again.</p><p>Unfortunately, before she can enquire some more, Draco draws a sharp breath and moves her hand away.</p><p>“Anyway, I answered your question. Your turn.”</p><p>“You are relentless,” she chuckles, “and we’re almost there anyway.”</p><p>“All the more reason why you shouldn’t keep it a secret anymore. Just tell me, <em> where</em>, in God’s name, are we going?”</p><p>Narcissa sighs with a roll of her eyes. “You know what, I’m tired. Fine.” She passes a hand on her arms to iron the already perfectly smooth fabric of her elegant suit. It’s a whole habit. “You remember you grandfather, right?”</p><p>Draco frowns. “What does this have to do with him?”</p><p>“Well, it… I’ll get to it. You remember he had a sister?”</p><p>“Yes, I remember your family, mother.”</p><p>“And her son, Regulus?”</p><p>Draco pauses for a second. His mother never really talked about her family because there were weird grudges going on between its members that spared no one: the story of how his mother and his aunt Andromeda didn’t talk for decades had haunted several dinner parties. He vaguely remembers about this cousin of her mother’s, who played hide and seek with him when he was little, but it’s not a very vivid memory; he knows that he had a fall out with his parents and that he died shortly after.</p><p>“Is this some kind of memorial for...”</p><p>“No, just… okay, let me talk,” says Narcissa, shifting in her seat and huffing out a steadying breath. “It’s not really pretty, though.”</p><p>“Nothing’s really pretty with your family.”</p><p>“Regulus had a brother,” she blurts out.</p><p>Draco blinks a few times. “I’m sorry– <em> what</em>?”</p><p>“Yes,” she clears her throat, sounding remorseful. “He had a brother, I had another cousin and you never met him because he, too, fought with my aunt, who, as you know, was a charming woman,” the sarcasm in her voice is as clear as day. “He ran away from home when he was sixteen.”</p><p>Trying to process the baffling news, Draco says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Past tense?”</p><p>Narcissa looks at him blankly, before realising what he’s asking and shakes her head, “Oh no! No, sorry, present tense. I <em> have </em> a cousin. He’s very much alive.” Still unsure as to what to say or how to react, Draco just stares at her. “His name is Sirius.” She pauses, waiting for some kind of reaction.</p><p>After a moment, Draco nods slowly, “Great, happy to find out about a new branch in the family tree. But what does this–” he begins, but Narcissa cuts him off.</p><p>“When Sirius was sixteen, my aunt kicked him out and then I lost contact with him. I think the only one who kept talking to him was Andromeda and maybe, but I’m not sure, because he never really said it, Regulus, while I… well, I just didn’t. I like to blame it on Bella’s influence, but, really, I just decided to ignore him, like the rest of the family.” She interjects Draco’s disapproving look. “I told you it wasn’t pretty.”</p><p>“I don’t even want to ask <em> why </em> he was kicked out in the first place.”</p><p>“Right, let’s not revive that… it’s <em> really </em> not pretty,” she says sombrely. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”</p><p>“Believe me, I’m holding back as much as possible,” he tells her, trying not to think of insults towards his own mother. “Anyway, what’s the point of this story?” he gestures for her to go on.</p><p>“Well,” Narcissa resumes, “Sirius moved to the States in the late Eighties. He and his friends had a band.” <em> God forbid one single person in this family doesn’t live by music</em>. “I believe they were called <em> The Marauders</em>.”</p><p>Draco snorts. “That’s an interesting name.” He would know about quirky band names.</p><p>Narcissa chuckles. “Fitting though. I mean, he has always been the reckless type, I remember that much about him,” she comments with a small smile. “Anyway, they had a fair success but then the band was forced to break up, because the, uh… well, the lead singers had a kid. Shortly after, the couple went to London, they had family there, too, and got caught in a tragic car accident that cost them their lives.”</p><p>“Goddamnit,” Draco exclaims. “Will there ever be <em> one </em> happy ending?”</p><p>“Don’t swear,” she reprimands him.</p><p>He rolls his eyes, and then, “The kid, too...?”</p><p>“Oh, no, thank God the kid wasn’t with them. Which is why Sirius and his band mate, now husband, came back to London: he had been chosen as the child’s godfather and they decided that it was best to raise him away from the touring life. So, they moved back here and have been living in London ever since. Now that I think about it, I think I even spotted him at Reg’s funeral…”</p><p>Draco is still a bit perplexed. “So you brought me with you for, what? A family reunion?”</p><p>“No,” Narcissa says with a light frown, “the reunion already happened. He contacted me.”</p><p>Once again, Draco blinks while processing the words. “Hold on. Your family ignored him for <em> years,</em> <em>you </em> included, and yet, in the end… <em> he </em> contacted <em> you</em>?”</p><p>She ponders for a moment. “I know how it sounds.”</p><p>“Like he’s the bigger person.”</p><p>“You should let me finish…”</p><p>“I can’t believe he had to run away, go all the way to the States, come back, raise a kid <em> alone</em>–”</p><p>“He contacted me because of you.”</p><p>Draco shuts up on the spot. “He what?”</p><p>A small hint of a smirk pulls up the corner of Narcissa’s mouth. “He’s a music manager now, and he… well, he heard about you. And he works with big enough names in pop music, so, you know, he put two and two together and reached out.”</p><p>The swirling of Draco’s thoughts accelerates like crazy. Shaking his head firmly, he holds his hands up, “Hold up, hold up,” he says, maybe to his mother or maybe to his brain, “let me get this straight. You’re telling me that there is an old-slash-new addition to the family who I’ve never heard about before and that the only reason you mended the relationship with him is because he… uh…”</p><p>“Sirius.”</p><p>“Thank you, because Sirius,” it sounds weirdly familiar now that he thinks about it, “who happens to be a music manager, heard about me and decided to contact you and put an end to the whole affair,” he concludes.</p><p>Her eyes wander around for a few seconds. “Well, yes, that’s about it.”</p><p>“Oh, my God,” Draco falls back into his seat, wide-eyed and shocked. “I can’t believe Nott’s idea worked.” Narcissa stares at him with a puzzled look. “You know,” he explains, “the account on Instagram, I’m sure I told you about it– that must be the way he… isn’t it?”</p><p>“Actually, when we met up he did tell me the story of how he heard about you, and the connection came to be because–”</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt,” the voice of the chauffeur comes from the intercom. “We’re at the destination, Ma’am.” </p><p>Looking out the window, Draco realises they’re stopping in front of a building in Mayfair; he can see the trees of Hyde Park down the street.</p><p>“Oh,” Narcissa says clapping her hands together, a soft smile on her face. “Well, I guess Sirius can just tell you himself, at this point.”</p><p>The driver gets out to open her door as Draco circles the car to offer an arm to his mother. He shoots a look at the terraced house in front of them, just one among the countless that populate the street. He is fairly certain there’s a top patio: he can hear voices and chattering coming from up above. It kind of feels like a flashback.</p><p>There is an usher at the entrance and Draco can spot a wide corridor behind her back. The sounds coming from the house are muffled or distorted, as though there was something blocking them from resonating in the right way… maybe they’re coming from a staircase.</p><p>“Good evening, Ma’am, can I ask you your name?”</p><p>“Sure, darling, it’s Malf–”</p><p>“Narcissa!”</p><p>A deep, masculine, mellow voice calls from behind the young lady at the door, and she steps aside immediately. Narcissa’s arm slips away from Draco’s as she whispers a thank you to the young woman, then opens up in a smile when the tall man joins her with a big grin of his own.</p><p><em> Damn, damn, </em> damn <em> the Black genes. </em></p><p>“I’m so glad you could make it,” the man says, grabbing Narcissa’s hands and bringing her closer for a hug. He’s taller than her, a few years younger– around five, give or take, Draco muses looking at his crow’s feet; but taking the whole picture into consideration, he really looks like he just about entered his forties. </p><p>“Thank you again for having us,” Narcissa squeezes her cousin’s hands in return. Draco notices the tattoos on all of his phalanges. <em> Goes with the ensemble</em>, he thinks, when he spots the ones peeping on his chest from under the tieless and half-unbuttoned white shirt, tucked in red slacks and paired with black pointed boots. He is wearing his medium-length hair down, and the loose curls are impossibly <em> black</em>, making Draco once again wonder who was it that decided he had to get all of the Malfoy aesthetic genes and completely pass on the Black ones.</p><p>(Not that he’d ever admit having ever thought such things to anyone, obviously. Especially not to Theo, who always brags about dark-haired men being more handsome than blonds.)</p><p>There’s a casual and yet elegant attitude that exudes from his persona, a tad of haughtiness in the twinkle of his clear eyes and the faint shadow of that old aristocratic beauty that his family must’ve passed him in his grin.</p><p>“You must be Draco,” the man says, stretching out an inked hand. “I’m Sirius.”</p><p>Draco gives it a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure, sir.” </p><p>“Oh, drop the sir,” Sirius comments waving his other hand. “We’re family, aren’t we?”</p><p>“Right,” Draco replies with a chuckle as he buries his hands in his pockets. Narcissa rubs his back for a moment, whether in encouragement or reassurance he’s not really sure.</p><p>“You were right, by the way,” her cousin tells her, pointing at Draco as he huffs out a small laugh. “He really is your husband’s spitting image– you must get that a lot, I’m sorry…”</p><p>“Oh, it’s fine, I’m used to it,” he starts, but Sirius has already moved past the subject.</p><p>“So, a pianist, is it? I’ve heard wonders about you, and your mother told me so many beautiful things… I was really looking forward to meeting you.” He turns around as he speaks and gestures for them to follow him inside, heading for the staircase at the end of the hallway. (Draco swallows a smug smirk when he gets the confirmation of how well he can recognise sounds– it’s not a competition, for God’s sake, and Zabini is not even around.)</p><p>“I’ve also seen those videos on the Internet... <em> my goodness</em>, can you play. And I’ve got to say, I think you have a really beautiful voice, too– oh!” He stops when they get to the second floor and he almost bumps into another man turning the corner in that moment. Thinner than him, roughly as tall, light brown hair, a small moustache and light, summery clothes, he looks at Sirius with a weird expression between an eye-roll and genuine curiosity. “Ah, just who I was looking for.”</p><p>Putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder, Sirius swirls around on his feet and gestures towards Narcissa. “Narcissa, dear, this is Remus, my husband,” he introduces her as Remus shakes her hand. “And this is…”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, I know,” the man hushes him. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Narcissa,” Remus says, his head bowing a little when he addresses her. “I hope my husband hasn’t already bored you to death with his endless talking.”</p><p>Draco stifles a snort while Sirius theatrically rolls his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t get bored easily,” she smiles back, earning a genuine laugh from Remus and a comical face from her cousin.</p><p>“Let’s not stay here, though,” the latter says, taking Narcissa’s arm under his and guiding her up the staircase, “there are some people around still rehearsing”. He exchanges a look with his husband, but it’s not long enough for Draco to guess what the silent communication is about. Clapping his hand, Sirius gestures for him to follow them.</p><p>As they climb the stairs, the conversation is steered back to where it was left earlier, with Sirius asking Draco about his job and his prospects for the future. The blond has all the answers ready, of course; it is meat and drink to him to discuss his life’s plans.</p><p>They’re still talking when they enter the large opened terrace on the roof, which is fairly crowded with several people. There’s a small stage on the opposite side of the entrance and rows of chairs aligned in front of it. Some people are already sitting down, but the majority is standing in small groups, chatting, drinking and eating the canapés that are being served around.</p><p>There is a piano on the podium.</p><p>Draco eyes his mother, not really sure of his feelings regarding this whole situation. “What exactly is happening here?”</p><p>“She didn’t tell you?” asks Sirius, raising an eyebrow at Narcissa.</p><p>“Well,” she says, ironing invisible wrinkles on her trousers, “I wanted it to be a surprise,” followed by a graceful shrug.</p><p>“Oh, I <em> love </em> surprises!” Sirius exclaims, which makes Remus nod with a resigned expression.</p><p>“He really does. It’s the bane of my existence,” he sighs before patting Draco on his shoulder in understanding.</p><p>“Draco says he hates surprises,” Narcissa says, gesturing towards her son.</p><p>“I do,” he sighs, already tired out by their previous conversation in the car, “I really don’t–”</p><p>“Spank my arse and call me Merlin! Is that <em> Draco Malfoy</em>?!”</p><p>Draco’s head snaps around towards the exit of the staircase, where the shockingly familiar voice comes from. Standing there, all poshed up in his black oxfords, there’s the unmistakable black mop of hair messily falling on rounded spectacles, behind which a set of gleaming green eyes are widened in surprise and excitement.</p><p>“Potter?”</p><p>Harry runs, actually <em> runs</em>, to Draco and brings him closer for what should be a hug but is more of a deadly squeeze. “I haven’t seen you in ages, mate! What are you doing here?” </p><p>“I could ask you the same,” Draco says, but mostly because he still, in fact, does <em> not </em> know what he’s doing here.</p><p>“Well, I live here!”</p><p>“You <em> what</em>?”</p><p>“Draco, Cissy,” Sirius interrupts, his arm going on Harry’s shoulder to bring him back to planet Earth. “This is Harry, my godson. But you already know him, don’t you?” he says, winking at Draco.</p><p>“<em>You </em> invited him?” Harry asks, while Remus passes a hand on his cheek, suspiciously unimpressed by the whole ordeal but still unable to hide a smile.</p><p>“As it turns out,” Sirius explains, “Narcissa Malfoy is my cousin. It’s a bit of a long story, but, anyway, yes, there he is.” Harry blinks at him, then looks back at Draco and then back at him. “Surprise!”</p><p>Narcissa laughs and the sound makes Harry realise that he hasn’t properly introduced himself yet. He apologises promptly and shakes her hand, his gaze still puzzled by the dynamic of the encounter.</p><p>“See? Surprises are nice,” Narcissa teases her son, leaving Harry even more confused but making Sirius laugh again.</p><p>With a yielding exhale, Draco relents. “I just don’t like them for me. I don’t… I like well structured plans. I like to know what comes next, so that I can control where my life is going,” he says, even though he’s not really sure he really thinks that. Not anymore, at least. “I don’t like risks.” That last bit, if anything, is painfully true.</p><p>“But, my dear boy,” says Sirius, giving Draco’s arm a little squeeze, “what’s life without a little risk?”</p><p>“That’s a great quote,” Harry half-laughs and half-asserts, “you should put it in your autobiography.”</p><p>“When you make me famous enough that I’ll need an autobiography, I will,” he answers. Then, winking at Draco, “I’m their band manager.”</p><p>The picture of what exactly is happening is getting clearer and blurrier at the same time in the pianist’s head.</p><p>“I can already see the front cover: <em> Sirius Black</em>,” Harry goes on, mimicking with his hands the display of the words, “<em>What’s life without a little risk? A memoir</em>.”</p><p>“It’s a life that will eventually get you killed,” Remus chips in, again that expression of affection mixed with resignation on his face.</p><p>“Remus worries even if you cross the street with a green light without checking for cars,” Sirius informs Narcissa.</p><p>“I live with kids, as you can see,” his husband comments, making her laugh.</p><p>“I still don’t fully understand what’s going on,” Draco says, trying to keep track of the steps that brought him to this terrace. “You’re… is he…?” he asks pointing at Harry and turning towards Narcissa. At her shrug, he turns to face the other boy again, a new question flashing in his brain. “Are we…?”</p><p>Harry’s eyes widen again, his head snapping towards Sirius, who just laughs. “No, no– well, I don’t know, legally speaking, but… no, you’re not related.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay, fine,” Draco says casually, not really sure why he even asked in the first place.</p><p>“Yeah, cool– not that it would have been a problem.”</p><p>“No, right. Absolutely.”</p><p>Remus huffs out a laugh from under his mustache.</p><p>“And this,” Sirius goes on, ignoring Harry and Draco’s awkward looks, “this is the annual event for the scholarship we instituted in memory of James and Lily.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulder, and the young man squeezes back before looking at Draco with a small smile.</p><p>“Oh, that’s great,” he nods at him. “Will you choose the recipient tonight?” Something crosses Harry’s face then, but it’s probably just the sunlight.</p><p>“No, they’ve already been chosen and they’re playing tonight. It’s going to be fun,” Sirius says with another wink in his direction. Draco searches for Harry’s eyes but he averts them, same as Remus when he tries for his. Something’s going on here, and Draco feels as though everyone is in on a joke except him.</p><p>“Anyway,” Sirius continues, “Harry here is the main reason why I found out about you. He once mentioned something about their <em> Favola bella </em> single and then also… Hozier, was it?”</p><p>Draco almost chokes on his own saliva.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Harry shouts, “Hozier! Actually, about that, I have some things I’m working on and you being here… can I steal you away?” Draco doesn’t have the time to reply because the other boy is already grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the staircase where they came up from.</p><p>“But I wanted to…” Sirius begins, but he’s cut off by his godson.</p><p>“Catch up with your cousin. Sorry. I haven’t seen him in ten months, I can’t let him slip out of my hands.” As Harry drags him away, Draco turns around to find his mother’s gaze, who looks at him with a small smirk and cheerfully waves at him when he mouths an apology.</p><p>Harry keeps him busy for a long time. They walk for a while before finding a free room, since most of them are occupied by people who, as he tells Draco, will perform during the ceremony and are doing last-minute rehearsals. The blond gapes at the grandness of the house, which is simply <em> huge</em>, but Harry grimaces when he notices the awe in his expression: he preferred their old place in Claremont Square, but then, he says, mid-life crisis hit and Sirius decided he wanted a change because he needed a top roof. Harry keeps complaining because his godfather blamed it on their dog, Padfoot, who – Sirius’ words – needed a place in the open air, even though he had always lived indoors his whole life. Eventually they find an empty room and Harry trails off in his rant and takes his mobile out.</p><p>Draco is not sure why they didn’t go straight to Harry’s room, but he also doesn’t really want to dig into that thought. He is actually trying to keep all of his thoughts at bay, since the first, instant connection his brain made when he saw Harry was with another H-named person that he’s trying his hardest to ignore and, if he’s lucky enough, forget.</p><p>Luckily, the bespectacled boy distracts him when he starts talking about the band’s music, and then makes him listen to some pieces and sends him scores to look at because he claims he needs notes. After a while, Draco collects the willpower he has stored somewhere into him and makes Harry listen to a couple of things he wrote, too, to which he responds enthusiastically and repeats to exhaustion that he definitely has to talk to Sirius about it because he’s sure his manager can do something about it. </p><p>At the mention of his godfather’s name, Harry remembers about the event upstairs and, with a loud “<em>shitfuck</em>” escaping from his lips, he checks the time and hastily drags Draco back up the staircase. He feels like a tennis ball today, mindlessly tossed back and forth from person to person.   </p><p>On the rooftop, the chairs in front of the stage are all occupied and there’s a low murmuring from the crowd as guests – sitting and standing alike – are waiting for the ceremony to start. Harry and Draco make their way to the left side of the audience, from where Draco can spot his mother’s elegant updo next to what must be Remus in the first row. She is chatting with people he doesn’t recognise: he just hopes it’s not some more long-estranged family members.</p><p>“We need another chair,” Harry says, distracting him from his survey of the place “I have a guest.” Draco turns to him in time to see Neville and Ron looking at him with eyes wide in shock and mouths agape.</p><p>“Malfoy?? What are you doing here?” asks Ron in a hushed tone, while Neville smiles at him enthusiastically and scoots over to make room for him.</p><p>“It’s a long story,” the blond replies, sitting down next to Harry. Ron leans towards Neville to whisper something in his ear, which makes the guitarist pat Harry’s shoulder and pull him closer to the duo. Draco doesn’t catch what they’re mumbling about, but he can see Ron’s furrowed brows as he looks at him from the corner of his eye. Harry mutters something that sounds like a “my own” (<em>my own </em> what?), and then a loud hush, before Sirius takes the stage and the small gathering applauds him, making it impossible for Draco to make out more words.</p><p>He could make a joke about whispering in people’s ears when other guests are around, which is something, as his mother loved to tell him, incredibly rude. But it would be pointless anyway, Draco thinks, wouldn’t it? Let them talk, who cares about what’s so urgent they need to share right this moment.</p><p>“Welcome!” Sirius says grabbing the microphone from the stand. “Welcome, everyone, thank you for being here, it’s an honour to have you.” He bows to the applauding audience. “For those of you who may not know me, I’m Sirius Black, and today we’re going to introduce you to the recipient of this year’s fellowship for the Stag Foundation. I say ‘we’ not because I have a superiority complex – although, some may disagree,” a small laugh snakes through the attendees, “but because I speak for both my husband Remus and I. He gets stage fright nowadays so he doesn’t want to come up here, but this Foundation is my greatest accomplishment as well as his.”</p><p>Remus stands up from the first row and bashfully turns around to wave at the audience. Draco notices a small line of musicians standing on the other end of the terrace, all holding either their instrument or scores or both, neatly dressed in black robes. His eyes scan them: he recognises some of them from other events or from the classrooms of either the Academy or the College of Music, but most of them are unfamiliar. He briefly wonders if the recipient of the scholarship is among them or if they’re going to be announced with some kind of big entrance.</p><p>“I am incredibly overjoyed to present this year’s recipient,” Sirius resumes. “The person I have the honour to welcome on this stage is a wonderful musical talent who has already graced some of the most important stages in Europe thanks to a collaboration with the renowned Zeno Bonamore, who, as you may know…”</p><p>He keeps talking but Draco has stopped listening at the mention of Bonamore. All of a sudden, his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest, echoing in his ears. His brain pings between all the impossible connections and coincidences that have been happening today– from his mother and Sirius, to Harry, to the boys, to…</p><p>Closing his eyes shut, he draws a shaky breath. It can’t be. Bonamore knows a lot of people. It doesn’t have to be… It <em> can’t </em> be.</p><p>“Usually we open the ceremony with a song by <em> Riddikulus</em>,” Sirius waves at Harry, Ron and Neville and someone in the crowd whistles, “but we decided to stir things up, this time. So, without further ado: I will have the absolute pleasure to accompany her at the piano– oh no, don’t,” someone starts clapping and he stops them, and yet again Draco’s mind loses him, blasting sirens into his thoughts and making his stomach jump around in somersaults because of the feminine pronoun. But it can’t– she’s not the only female musician who walks God’s gracious Earth. It’s impossible. And there’s the tour– Bonamore is <em> still </em> touring, he knows it, he’s seen it on Instagram, he… it cannot be.</p><p>People around him are still clapping but Draco doesn’t notice, just like he doesn’t see Harry, Ron and Neville apprehensively looking at him, scrutinising his reaction.</p><p>“Save that energy for this extraordinary violinist.”</p><p>What was it that Potter said? <em> Shitfuck</em>.</p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome… Hermione Granger.”</p><p>Time freezes.</p><p>Space doesn’t exist anymore.</p><p>Every breath he takes feels like the last one; he can sense the piercing air penetrating his nostrils, and then flowing down his system to reach his lungs. The notion of control on his body is something that sounds completely stupid, right now, given how he doesn’t even know if his mouth is opened or closed, if his fists are clenching or just dangling from his lap weightless, if he’s standing or sitting, hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s actually blinking.</p><p>Hermione walks on the small stage from the right corner, her violin clasped in her hand. She opens up in a broad, bright, colourful smile when Sirius takes her hand and turns her towards the audience that’s clapping enthusiastically. She bows lightly; her hair is styled in two loose Dutch braids, and one of them slips in front of her when she moves forward. Doesn’t bother her much: she throws it back as she straightens up.</p><p>Everything and everyone else around her blurs up. She is the only focus point.</p><p>“Sirius flatters me,” she laughs into the microphone that the man passes her.</p><p>She is as magnificent as she’s ever been.</p><p>Draco doesn’t even know how to think anymore, every natural function seems too impossible for his body to conceive in her presence.</p><p>He just feels locked into his spot and fighting against invisible ropes that are stopping him from making a single move.</p><p>The notes of Hermione’s voice drip down his ears and he just feels the impelling need to drown into her.</p><p>He knows what he wants to do– what he <em> needs </em> to do: he needs to stand up, run to her and tell her everything he didn’t have the courage to say, do everything he didn’t have the strength to do. It’s been ten months since he last saw her, but it now feels like it hasn’t been ten seconds and he needs to fix his mistake. The world can’t keep spinning if he doesn’t make things right.</p><p>And yet he can’t seem able to move a single muscle, incapable to even understand how it is possible that she’s standing <em> there</em>, right in front of him.</p><p>“I’m terribly excited that he agreed to play this piece with me,” Hermione says as Sirius goes to sit at the piano stool. “It’s the first time I play it for an audience, and I hope… well, I hope you’ll get the right message out of it.”</p><p>Did she look at him? Has she seen him? Does she know he’s here? What the fuck is going on? Draco can’t say he’s fully understanding what she’s saying, her lips move but he just wants them to move against his.</p><p>“You may know the story of the Trojan War, and of how Paris stole Helen. Did you know she had a daughter with Menelaus? She was called Hermione,” she smirks, earning another applause. “This piece’s title comes from the prequel of that story… when Eris, the goddess of Discord, threw an apple in the midst of a feast and the goddesses Athena, Hera and Aphrodite fought for it. Quite hilarious to think that a petty fight triggered the Trojan War, if you ask me: I guess it tells us how minor details can have the most unexpected of outcomes.”</p><p><em> Shitfuck</em>.</p><p>She puts the violin on her shoulder and tries out a few notes.</p><p>“On that apple, there was an inscription: ‘To the most beautiful’. Or, in Greek: <em> Tei Kallistei</em>.”</p><p>-</p><p>The night was warm and punctuated with stars, like every other night that unfurled in the Italian sky during the summer. There was the occasional sound of engines coming from outside the open windows but it was mostly quiet, heavy and light at the same time, like the feel of the bed sheets on Draco’s bare body.</p><p>Hermione was sleeping in his arms, limbs intertwined with his, twisted together and inseparable. His hand was on her back, fingers drawing random patterns and tracing her spine as it raised and fell with her breathing. Sleep couldn’t seem to get to him, though, the awareness of every second dripping away keeping his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling over his head.</p><p>Turning his face slowly, he had ghosted a kiss on Hermione’s forehead and carefully untangled his body from hers before slipping out of bed. He had grabbed his boxer-briefs, trousers and t-shirt from the floor and pulled them on, then had walked out from her bedroom.</p><p>Restlessly pacing from the sofa to the kitchen, to the bathroom, back to the kitchen and then to skimming the spines of the books in the library, Draco had finally found some semblance of peace when he sat at the piano stool in the living room. His fingers had started to play something without even deciding it, just an old tune that he knew by heart. The melody had started shifting and transfixing in his hands then, his control over it lost, until, after going through a few pieces, he had realised he was playing something else. Something new.</p><p>He had stopped, not sure about what was happening. He had never gotten the inspiration to compose before. But the feel of the piano’s keys under his pads was soothing and calming, and the last thing he’d needed was falling into a spiral of inquietude and uneasiness. It was just one way like another to take something out of his chest, wasn’t it?</p><p>He had grabbed his phone, opened the voice memos app and pressed play, before resuming his melody.</p><p>When Hermione had woken up the next morning, she hadn’t noticed his night detour from the bed, and Draco hadn’t mentioned a word about it. He hadn’t even known what to think about it himself: he wasn’t a composer. Not in the true sense of the word. He had never truly had ideas for new melodies. That was a long and fairly agonising process for him, those scarce times he had to do it. He would have loved to just be able to sit down and write something, like Theo was (no matter how much his friend shouted during the entire process); but it simply wasn’t him.</p><p>So, Draco had thought, he would have just ended up deleting the memo and that would have been it.</p><p>However, the following night, at his place, he still couldn’t sleep. The absence of Hermione’s body pressing against him had been so present that it hurt like a ghost limb. He had gotten up, lest he started dwelling on what that absence was going to transform into once he returned home – it was really not the right time for that – he had sat at the kitchen table, grabbed a few blank musical scores and written down the notes his phone had dutifully recorded the day before. </p><p>Afterwards, he had stared at the traces of graphite on the pentagrams for a few minutes, and then had put all of himself into not throwing the pages away. Folding them neatly, he had gone back to his room, put them on top of the suitcase and gone back to bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.</p><p>It was after he and Hermione played together at Ginny’s that he’d gone back to them. </p><p>It had felt right.</p><p>From his suitcase, he had transferred the draft to his wallet that same night – he hadn’t wanted Blaise or Theo to accidentally find it. The following night, back at Hermione’s place, as she slept soundly he had gone to sit at the piano stool again after retrieving the pages from his wallet. Fearing he’d have woken her up if he had played, he had only brushed the keys, trying the melody out: softly, almost a phantom touch. Delicate.</p><p>When the clock had started ticking towards morning hours, the piece was finished. Draco had hid it back in his wallet and down his back pocket, and then had headed for the Conservatory when Hermione was busy with Bonamore the next afternoon. He had found an empty room to lock himself in: he had played it and re-played the piece, adding variations, taking notes away, editing tempos and pauses, pondering every detail until he’d felt the knot floating between his stomach and his lungs disappear and he had known he was done.</p><p>The last time Draco touched those pages had been on his and Hermione’s last night together. He had held her in his arms the whole night, mostly in silence, with few meaningless words shared between them. Neither wanted to open a box that could have made Pandora turn in her grave. His chest had felt heavy and hollow at the same time when the alarm went off in the very early morning. He had gotten dressed and gone to pick up his jacket: stored in the inner pockets, there were the sheets of paper with the still unnamed song.</p><p>He had read the notes again, just out of habit, really; there was nothing left of him to give and put into it. He had turned towards the room where Hermione was still sleeping: closing his eyes, he could make out her figure on the mattress, huddled on herself when she was once snuggled around his body.</p><p>So pure and beautiful that his heart had felt squeezed by a firm and cruel grip for the billionth time that day, and every day since the night of the gala. His merciless mind was already playing out the moments they spent together like they were old and rusty memories.</p><p>He had turned around, grabbed a pen and written down the first words that had come to his mind: something referencing old myths, and wars and chaos, and impossible loves that are so strong and passionate that can only be born from a sick trick of the gods.</p><p><em> Tei Kallistei</em>.</p><p>A small note before leaving the pages on her bedside table.</p><p>A last kiss, and he had said goodbye.</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione caresses a couple of strings with the bow. Her arm, clad in a see-through and form-fitting black fabric, moves slowly, the fingers of her left hand pressing on the neck of the violin to create some kind of distorted vibrato.</p><p>Draco’s thoughts definitively and helplessly blank out.</p><p>When he composed that melody, he was thinking about her: it was the image made music of when she was poorly playing that miraculous piano in the square. But he had no idea that hearing it re-played back to him – by <em> her </em> fingers – would have made the flashback crash into him with such fury. He already feels his lungs gasp for air, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.</p><p>At the piano, Sirius joins Hermione shortly after. His tune blends with the violin in a lighthearted and carefree melody, every now and then surprising the listener with sudden spikes of high notes that feel like a new breath of fresh air. Hermione’s violin dictates the rhythm, her bow moving almost like the one of orchestra directors, and the piano follows, sometimes anticipating, sometimes lagging behind, until they finally find the perfect synchrony in their game of catch and the key changes. The music becomes deeper and more intense, captivating the audience with its now restless pace. Sirius’ hands run from the lower section of the piano to the higher, pressing and tapping and jumping from one key to the other in the scales effortlessly and precisely. But the real act is Hermione.</p><p>Eyes closed and braids swinging down her back, she moves through the music narrating its story– <em> their </em> story. As the melody builds up, she shapes it both in the audience’s ears with her faultless touches on the strings and in their eyes with the movements of her body. She brings it to real life, swaying on the stage, light and steady at the same time, channeling all of her memories, all of her feelings into it, heightening the highs and deepening the lows, tiring her fingers out with scales and variations that Draco doesn’t remember but that he’s too mesmerised to reflect upon right now. His breath is short in his throat, his heart gallops when she hints at the climax that never seems to arrive.</p><p>When the combination of piano and violin finally explodes, it’s with a sound that is exceptionally full and vivid, and a collective gasp runs through the audience; the music feels like a stake in the heart, like a dagger in the guts, deeply painful and yet strikingly comforting. A small death, that opens the gates of a blissful unknown, that could be moulded in a thousand different ways: the beauty of an unplanned future.</p><p>And yet, the piano doesn’t leave them enough time to bask in that happiness. With startling deep notes that tarnish the pinnacle of their dance, everyone is reminded that cheer is not complete joy, not yet: every low sound evokes doubt, fear, and weakness. Slowly, the deep tones eat their way through the harmony, swallowing down every lightheartedness. The melody fades into a soft and dramatic tune, almost a soothing lullaby that is trying to hide the inner fragility of the delicate balance between the two instruments, but that it’s doomed to fail in its attempt.</p><p>The finale is nothing but a confirmation of that uncertainty, of that vulnerability, unveiled at last: it was already there when no one was aware of it, haunting the piece since the very beginning. It has enveloped the enthralled crowd, whispering in their ears a lost song about a missed chance, about an encounter that turned the world upside down but that slipped beyond a lover’s reaches. Hermione plays out the last note for a long time, stretching it out as much as her instrument allows her; then, suddenly, she covers the strings with her hand, blocking the sound.</p><p>The music is finished. The door is closed.</p><p>Nobody speaks. Nobody moves.</p><p>Draco can sense the wetness of teardrops on his cheeks.</p><p>It’s Harry who stands up abruptly – the first one to break out of the trance that seems to hold the audience captive – and he knocks over his chair in his rapid motion to applaud his best friend. When the rest of the attendees follow him, the standing ovation is unanimous and the applause is overwhelming in its roar.</p><p>Sirius hugs Hermione in a brief but tender embrace, and when he lets her go she places her violin on the piano and welcomes the applause with a beautiful smile. Draco finds himself standing and clapping, too, his mouth ajar and unable to focus on closing it. He vaguely registers Harry saying something but he can’t bring himself to care enough to pay attention to him.</p><p>Her eyes scan the crowd for a moment and…</p><p>She finds him. His body feels it before their gazes lock.</p><p>Her smile broadens. His heartbeat falters.</p><p>She turns to Sirius, who is voicing his congratulations and praises into the microphone and then says something about the scholarship. Hermione thanks him and the guests, says a few more words about the beautiful work the Foundation has been doing for twenty years now and then leaves the stage to the other musicians for a short concert, disappearing back into the house as quickly and gracefully as a nymph in the woods.</p><p>At that point, Draco doesn’t know what to do. He helplessly follows her with his eyes until she vanishes, his heart giving a painful thud in his chest, and then he turns to Harry. Harry, who is looking at him with an unabashed grin, his two companions sniggering behind him.</p><p>His mouth opens and closes a few times before uttering the only words his brain can form: “You knew?”</p><p>“Surprise.”</p><p>He fucking <em> hates </em> surprises.</p><p>He wants to stand and run after Hermione, but he’s paralysed by irrational doubt. Maybe she’s busy. Sirius left with her– maybe there is bureaucratic paperwork they have to go through. They could have done it after the concert, though? Or maybe not. She saw him, anyway, she could have come to him. She didn’t. Why didn’t she? </p><p>Why did she play <em> his </em> piece? She’s a composer, he knows it, he heard it – she told him – and an excellent one at that, so why not play one of hers? He wasn’t even sure she had gotten the piece: now that he thinks about it, he had imagined that maybe she hadn’t seen it and the flat’s owners had found it and forgot to tell her or maybe she had seen it but had been too sleepy to realise what it was so she had put it in the boys’ stack without giving it a second glance. </p><p>She has never mentioned a word about it. Has she known this whole time? Did she know when she texted him to ask if the plane was on time? When he sent her a photo of McGonagall’s cat? All those other times they talked? And all those times they didn’t? </p><p>She made some changes to it– when did <em> that </em> happen? Was it in between rehearsals with Bonamore? Before? After? Maybe she had seen it right away that morning but had forgotten about it until today. Or maybe she’s been going back to it every day during these ten months until she deemed it perfect. Was it in her notebook while she was sharing a bed with someone else? Was she playing it on her violin while <em> he </em> was sharing a bed with someone else?</p><p>Millions of different questions storm into his brain at once, and before he can even realise it the concert has ended, most people are milling around, and he’s still sitting down as motionless as a statue. </p><p>He shakes his head firmly and finally stands up, excusing himself from Harry and the others and walking decidedly towards the stage to catch the group of musicians. Maybe she’s come back and he hasn’t noticed…</p><p>He navigates through them and the horde of people approaching to congratulate them on their performances, but Hermione is nowhere to be found. When a hand presses on his shoulder, he startles and swirls around to meet his mother’s eyes.</p><p>“Darling, something came up with your father’s job, we need to be home earlier than anticipated.” Because of course it has to be a race against time. “The car will be here shortly. Is that okay?”</p><p>Draco shakes his head. It’s fine. He can do this. Two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter– everything is suddenly clear. A second chance appeared out of nowhere and he <em> has </em> to do this. He needs to do this like he needs to breathe.</p><p>“Yeah, fine,” he says, avoiding Narcissa’s enquiring look and stretching his neck to look over to the buffet tables. People are serving themselves champagne and all kinds of hors d’oeuvres.</p><p>“Are you okay, darling? Are you looking for someone?”</p><p>“Yes– I mean, no– I just…”</p><p>There she is.</p><p>Throwing her head back laughing at some surely idiotic joke that Potter made, then turning around to shake hands with some strangers who are undoubtedly telling her she’s the greatest violinist who has ever lived. Glowing in her black suit, standing out among the crowd even though half of it is dressed in the same way. The brightest of stars.</p><p>“Sorry, mum, it’s fine, I uh… I have something to do,” Draco says, mouth dry, one hand on his mother’s arm to gently move her out of the way and eyes fixed on Hermione. Narcissa follows his gaze to find who he’s looking at, and then she turns back to him. The look on his face is bewildering when he blinks back at her.</p><p>Something clicks in her mind.</p><p>“You know the violinist?”</p><p>“She, uh… she’s…”</p><p>Mother and son look at each other. Narcissa smiles, then brings her hand up to adjust a strand of hair on his forehead, humming gently and smacking a soft kiss in the air when her thumb traces his cheek.</p><p>“Go. I’ll tell you when it’s time.”</p><p>He tries to say something to her, but he can’t, so he just slips out of her hold and heads towards Hermione. He almost stumbles on a couple of kids running among the guests, a lady avoids spilling her drink on his shirt just by the skin of her teeth, and he has to obstinately clear his throat multiple times when a gentleman stops in his way and doesn’t seem to notice that he’s blocking the flow of people.</p><p>And then, after dozens of ridiculous obstacles (the irony is not lost on him), he is finally behind her.</p><p>“Granger.”</p><p>A long second later, Hermione turns around. Behind her, Neville frantically pushes Ron and Harry away, leaving the two of them alone.</p><p>She bites her bottom lip; Draco tragically realises he had forgotten the precise way her front teeth stand out in her mouth.</p><p>“Would you look at that.” Her eyes move all over his figure, from his blond hair, to his black shirt, down to his shoes and back to his tie. Something glitters in her chestnut gaze when she finds his silver one. “Draco Malfoy. Long time no see.”</p><p>Her fringe must have gotten long because there are no stray locks adorning her cheeks. Her round face is gleaming in the afternoon sun, less tanned than it was almost a year ago, still as beautiful. More beautiful, if that’s even possible. </p><p>And it is. His memory and the photographs he found himself longingly looking at during his darkest nights didn’t do justice to the real life Venus standing in front of him. Her outer beauties and peculiarities are made of everything that’s truly her, of her inner doubts, insecurities and strengths, of her fragility and fortitude. It’s like that old concept of <em> kalokagathia</em>: the idea that the outside perfection mirrors the inner virtue– except that, with Hermione, Draco knows it’s so much more than simple virtue and stale perfection. She is so much more than that.</p><p>“I had no idea you’d be here.”</p><p>She smiles, “I had.” </p><p>He just wants to take her and hold her and apologise and scream that he’s been the biggest of idiots and wipe away the past few months with a kiss because, honestly, right now they seem so completely unimportant, and then he wants to love her for as long as he’s going to have breath in his lungs– but he also feels like he’s walking on a Tibetan bridge and a simple misstep would be his downfall. </p><p>“You had?”</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione was looking at the sea in the distance, swirling red wine in her glass. She could hear the chatter from the dining table in the background.</p><p>“Thoughtful?”</p><p>She had smiled, turning in her chair to face Sirius, who was dragging his closer to sit next to her. She had held her glass up. “This French?”</p><p>“We’re in France,” he had said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.</p><p>Hermione had made a face. “I prefer the Italian ones.” He had chuckled. “Thank you, by the way,” she had told him, putting her hand on his shoulder, “for the party. Mum really loved it, I could see it in her eyes.”</p><p>The Black-Lupin-Potter’s had insisted that Mrs Granger celebrated her 50th birthday at their beach house in the South of France. Sirius had been determined to throw a party because, in his words, his mother had hated – and consequently ruined – parties her whole life, so now that all of her properties had passed onto him, the least he could do was finding every day a new way to piss her off in the afterlife.</p><p>“My absolute pleasure,” and he had covered Hermione’s hand with his.</p><p>She had given him a grateful smile and then had rested her head on the back of the chair. The late spring breeze was tickling her hair, even messier than usual in the salt air.</p><p>“There’s something I would like to talk to you about,” Sirius had said after a minute. Hermione had straightened herself at his serious tone and put down her glass, giving him her full attention. “Well, there are two things,” he had specified, taking off his sunglasses. “First of all, how is that tv show thing going? Harry mentioned something.”</p><p>“We should sign the deal any day now, I’m supposed to meet with Silente and Bonamore in Milan next week,” she had answered, beaming. “I’m really excited.”</p><p>“As you should be,” he had smiled back. Then continued: “Look, you can say no, but… I know it sounds crazy, but you, and Harry and the others are turning twenty-six this year and it’s the same age James and Lily were when…” Sirius had trailed off, clearing his throat. Years had gone by, but the pain never lessened. “So, um… Remus and I thought that it would be nice to choose a twenty-six-year-old as the recipient for the Stag Foundation scholarship this year. And we would love to give it to you.”</p><p>Her jaw had gone slack. “What?”</p><p>“Yours is a rare talent, Hermione. Natural. In both performing and composing. And now, with this new incredible project kicking off, this acknowledgment would be the crowning of your journey as a musician.”</p><p>Hermione had kept blinking at Sirius for a few moments, incredulous and speechless. “I… I don’t know what to say.”</p><p>“Say yes,” he had smiled.</p><p>She had laughed, shaking her head. “No, but… I have a job on my way, and I’m relatively steady on my feet. I’m sure there are countless other young musicians that need it more than I do.”</p><p>“Ah, Remus told me you’d say this. You’re not wrong,” Sirius had conceded, “that’s why you can decline. But, from one artist to another, very few of the other musicians we’ve taken into consideration are as deserving as you. Besides, I can’t deny that if you accepted, it would make us very happy… you know, given the peculiar circumstances.”</p><p>Hermione had turned back to look at the sea, at a loss for words, picking up her glass again.</p><p>“You can think about it, of course,” the man had added after a moment. “The ceremony will be around mid June. Which brings me to my second point. I have a… project, let’s say. In mind.” Hermione had glanced at him and frowned. She had known Harry long enough to know that there was always something going on with his family. “I’ll go straight to the point: Harry told me about this supposedly incredible talent of a pianist you kids met in Rome last year.”</p><p>Right then and there, something had crumbled inside her. Her carefully constructed wall around her heart had vanished. She had made it her day-to-day self-imposed assignment not to think of Draco– and there Sirius went, casually dragging him back into her life. She really didn’t want to stop and think about just how <em> badly </em> their relationship had ended. If it had ever been a relationship at all.</p><p>She had looked right into Sirius’ clear and scrutinising gaze, feeling her teeth gritting together but trying to scold her features in a neutral expression. Unaware of the earthquake he had caused in her, he continued.</p><p>“Turns out, his mother is my cousin.” Hermione’s eyes had widened in shock. “That’s a very long story,” Sirius had said, waving a hand around, “but when Harry mentioned this lad, Remus convinced me to bury the axe and reach out, for the sake of the younger generation. I’m still not completely sure it was a good idea or if things will ever be okay between the two of us again, but… Narcissa seems decent enough. And I was planning on inviting them to our event in June.”</p><p>Hermione was carefully trying to keep her thoughts at bay, lest she think about all the nights she had spent staring at her phone screen with her hands twisted together, channeling all of her willpower into not calling Draco. He was moving on with his life, she had seen it from pictures, from the videos on his pianist account, and she had heard it from sporadic comments by her friends who somehow were still in contact with him or his friends. (Not that she didn’t text Theo on a weekly basis; but some topics were simply not talked about.) Besides, she was moving on, too, and it was going <em> great</em>. She felt like a ship with wind in her sails. But that was career-wise. She had never really moved on from… well, from everything else.</p><p>“Why are you telling me?” she had managed.</p><p>“My godson can’t shut up for the life of him,” was the simple explanation, to which Hermione averted her eyes, letting them go back to the sea. Her chest was aching painfully. </p><p>“Like I said, I want to invite them for family reasons, but mostly to surprise Harry. You should see him rambling about this guy every time one of his videos goes viral,” Sirius had rolled his eyes but the affection for his godson was unmistakable, and a hint of a chuckle escaped Hermione, too. “But I know there was something between the two of you and that it didn’t end nicely, so I won’t invite him if you’re not comfortable with him being there. If you decide to come, that is.”</p><p>To call it ‘something’ was an euphemism. To say ‘it didn’t end nicely’ was a massive understatement.</p><p>Hermione had kept her gaze on the waves in the distance, brushed by the wind. The sun was glistening on the surface. Every day, she missed him so much that even thinking about it made her want to scream and shout and break something. Every day, she’d daydream about him magically showing up at her doorstep, and every day she’d wonder about what her reaction would be. She would have probably slapped him. And then she would have kissed him like her own salvation depended on it.</p><p>He had left without a word, he had left with a whispered goodbye in the dark, and the only visible trace he was ever there had been half a dozen written pages. At first, she had thought that it was for the best. A clean cut. She had been mad but she understood, or she had made herself understand. She had <em> acted </em> like it was for the best, with easy smiles and texts and calls; deep down, though, something was withering inside her chest, day by day. It had not been for the best.</p><p>“Hermione?” Sirius had called her, gently shaking her shoulder. “It’s fine, forget it, I’ll just organise a dinner…”</p><p>Hermione had wiped away some tears she hadn’t realised were rolling down her cheeks and turned to him, her mind reeling with doubts and possibilities. She had wanted a second chance for so long. Maybe she could finally have it. Maybe a little bit of godparent-like help was all she needed to set things straight. To mend her broken heart.</p><p>“No, it’s okay.” She had taken a deep breath, if a bit shaky. But it had felt like the first real breath in a very long time. Cautiously hopeful. “Invite him. Don’t say anything about me.” </p><p>The gentle breeze had seemed to swell up in that moment, ruffling her loose curls; as she pushed them away from her face, she had started to grasp pieces of an idea that was taking shape in her mind. “I’ll be there, scholarship or not. And I… I have a piece.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Sirius told me you were coming,” Hermione smirks. “Harry is really chatty, so… let’s say, he knew most of the story.”</p><p>Draco files the information of this Cupid-like behaviour away in his brain, leaving it for later examination. To think that he didn’t even know about Sirius’ existence a little more than three hours ago is shocking.</p><p>“How…” He clears his throat. “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m great, thank you!” Hermione exclaims, tucking a rebellious curl behind her ear. “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m…” <em> about to die</em>. Seriously, if someone checked his vital parameters right now, they’d probably call an ambulance. “I’m fine.” He squeezes his eyes, shaking his head. When he opens them, Hermione is still there. It’s not a dream. “I didn’t even know you were in London.”</p><p>Another smile. “Surprise.”</p><p>He really, really, <em>really</em> <em>fucking hates</em> surprises.</p><p>“I hate surprises.”</p><p>She shrugs, a grin permanently tugging up her lips. “Okay.”</p><p>He tries to give her some semblance of a smile, too. He has no idea what’s happening or what he’s going to do. “I thought you were still touring.”</p><p>“Oh. Are you keeping tabs on me, Malfoy?”</p><p>He scoffs, or smiles, or sighs– he just makes a very weird noise that he hopes is not as embarrassing in real life as it sounds in his head.</p><p>“Well, I… I follow you on Instagram.” <em> And I saw all of your posts and your stories and I listened to every song you used on them and I read every poem you quoted and I tried to stop because I knew I was just making things worse for myself but I couldn’t</em>. “You know that.”</p><p>Hermione beams at him and Draco can sense his blood running faster through his veins. He’d thought it was Italy’s sun that was burning him up from the inside, all those times he got lost in the way her cheeks lifted up with the curve of a grin. But London’s sun isn’t as strong– and yet, here he is, set alight by her presence alone.</p><p>It’s foolishness, really. Thinking he could have really managed to keep on surviving without her. He’d almost got used to it, to be honest: to the contentment that was doomed to never become true happiness.</p><p>
  <em> I wish you were the kind of person who settles for enough. </em>
</p><p>Why settle for enough when he could have it all? When he could have <em> her</em>? </p><p>Can he have her?</p><p>“I <em> was </em> touring, but then I stopped because Zeno found me a deal with a tv company and I’m about to start working on that, so I left the group.”</p><p>“You left it?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I said.”</p><p>“Just you?”</p><p>Hermione bites the inside of her mouth. “Yes, Draco. Just me.”</p><p>Just her. Which means: alone. Which means: no other friend who flies out from Paris with her. Or from any other European city.</p><p><em> Just me. </em> Maybe he <em> can </em> have her.</p><p>Pause.</p><p>Rewind.</p><p>Zeno.</p><p>As in Bonamore.</p><p>As in Luna.</p><p>As in Zabini.</p><p>As in, the bastard of his best friend probably knew something, if not everything; the very same arsehole who – Draco now remembers with a tick in his jaw – loudly and quickly had changed the topic of the conversation that one time when he asked Luna about her father for some work related thing.</p><p>As in, he’s going to have a conversation with Blaise fucking Zabini.</p><p>Draco shakes the thought from his mind momentarily to focus back on the woman in front of him. “So, uh… a tv company?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Hermione says, turning around and grabbing a glass. “An English-Italian production is going to make a show and I’ll be working on the soundtracks. I’m really excited,” she tells him with a wide smile. She is distractingly beautiful.</p><p>“I bet, it sounds amazing,” he comments as she sips from her drink. A beat of silence lingers between them. “You said English-Italian?”</p><p>“Hm-hm,” she nods. “It’s the other reason why I’m in London, besides...” she gestures around them to indicate the ceremony. “The main recording studio will be here, and then we’ll move to Italy when needed. It’s a pretty huge project because Albus Silente is involved, too, so… you know. Big money moving around.”</p><p>It’s hilariously weird. Draco can see the loading bar of his brain in front of his eyes. “So, you’re… here?”</p><p>Another smirk behind her wine glass. “For the time being.”</p><p>She is staying. She is going to live in London for the foreseeable future. The same city he lives in. </p><p>Not that Draco wouldn’t be ready to drop everything and follow her to the top of Mount Everest, if she asked. He made a mistake once. This time, he would make it right. He hopes he’ll get the chance to make it right. </p><p>Hermione sees the discombobulation in his eyes, but she waits for him to say something. Which is honestly just cruel of her, given how Draco feels this close from breaking out singing or declaring sonnets; he’s desperately clinging to one single ounce of control because he has to keep his psyche intact somehow, to try and make sense of what is going on. The fact that he’s pretty much failing is another matter altogether.</p><p>“Are you,” he begins, and <em> going to let me kiss you </em> is how he would like to end, but what comes out is, “staying for long?”</p><p>Hermione’s eyes twinkle. “Actually, one of those trips to Italy will be next week, so it’s not really clear at the moment. And, well, you know, given the fact that I was picked as part of the Italian team, London won’t see me permanently.” She’s <em> not </em> staying, then? “Not yet, at least.” <em> Not yet. </em> What does it mean? Is she implying something? He is missing something here. “But that’s enough about me. What have <em> you </em>been up to?”</p><p>“I…” The orchestra. McGonagall. Social media presence. Viral videos. Rose. “The usual.” <em> Rose</em>. Does she know about Rose? Does she care?</p><p>Does it matter?</p><p>Hermione scoffs. “That’s very generic.”</p><p>“Yeah, well,” his mouth makes a wheezy half-chuckle sound that’s so embarrassing he’d like for the ground to open and swallow him whole. He’d also like to stop himself from driving the conversation back to her future living situation, but his tongue seems to be thinking otherwise. “I’m sorry– are you… so you’re leaving soon?”</p><p>“You can tell me about your life, Malfoy, I literally asked,” she smirks.</p><p>“Do you really want to hear about it, though?” He’s almost surprised by his own words but, well, it’s not like they’re not true. Maybe she’s just being polite. Maybe she hates him. She’d have every right to, given the way he left her and then did everything in his power to disappear from her life. Thinking about it, it’s strange that Potter didn’t mention the fact that he never went to one of his band’s concerts– he always bailed on them when Blaise and Luna popped by at his flat with tickets.</p><p>Her small laugh, Draco realises, is the one sound he’s been obsessively looking for in every song and every melody and every blow of the wind and every rustling of leaves. </p><p>“Would that be so hard to imagine?” Her eyes are as soft as ever, as welcoming as they were that night they sat on a square and ate gelato.</p><p>He hides his nervousness in a shrug. “It’s been quite some time.” And various stains on other people’s bed sheets. “Maybe your interests changed.”</p><p>“My interests didn’t change, Malfoy.”</p><p>A shiver runs down his spine. He clears his throat. “Good to know.”</p><p>“Have yours?”</p><p>He swallows down his answer. They haven’t. He tried to. So hard. But no, his interests haven’t changed. They never could. They never will.</p><p>“You, uh…” <em> Just say something. Something clever, possibly</em>. “You didn’t answer.” <em> Which is not that</em>.</p><p>“You neither,” she retorts, but he stays silent. Hermione exhales heavily. “Yes, Draco, I’m leaving soon. I’m not exactly coming back permanently, I told you,” she says easily, but her eyes search his gaze for… something. And he’s pretty sure his eyes say it all, but he lost control over his mouth as soon as he saw her, so he tells her.</p><p>“Well, I can’t blame you, can I? Italy is beautiful. I’d go back in the blink of an eye.”  </p><p>Yeah, maybe if he had some more control over his words he would actually say things with a little <em> sense</em>. But Hermione smiles, in that peculiar way that makes her nose scrunch a bit.</p><p>Draco sniffs, or maybe he clears his throat or squeezes his eyes– he doesn’t really feel his own body at this point. “So, um… will you be busy?”</p><p>“Oh,” she exclaims, “yes, actually, I have a pretty packed schedule for the upcoming days. There are some medical things I need to help my mum with, for starters, and I have some meetings with people who will be working from here while we’re in Italy.” She looks around for the plates stack. “And there’s the visit to the studio and a number of other technical things to do,” she grabs one and starts filling it with food. “Sirius was also mentioning something about a lunch somewhere with– oh, I don’t remember who...” </p><p>Sensing a headache coming, Draco doesn’t bother with following what she’s telling him anymore; he’s okay with just watching her. More than okay.</p><p>“Plus, I have some unfinished business with some friends here, and also, Harry said something about an audition for a musical contest.” He’s lost her, solely focused on finding the right moment to ask her to go out with him. Or, alternatively, to spend the rest of her life with him. “And I remember my dad wanted to look at trips for Australia– God knows why he wants to do it now, but apparently he can’t wait,” Hermione shoves a canapé down her throat and Draco is opening his mouth to tell her <em> he </em> can’t wait either, when, “and then, if I still have some time,” her voice changes, “there’s meeting a man I haven’t seen in ten months to tell him I love him.”</p><p>The words on the tip of his tongue die in his mouth.</p><p>She takes another bite and keeps chewing, an amused expression painted all over her features. Draco tries to shape his scattered breathing into words but it’s impossible. His mouth opens and closes several times but no sound comes out.</p><p>Hermione leans in slightly, her smile hesitant now. “If I get the chance to do it, that is.”</p><p>He swallows down on nothing, blinking at her. “Sure.” What. The gracious. <em> Fuck</em>? </p><p>She hums. </p><p>His next words come out a bit throaty: “Lucky man.”</p><p>“Very lucky, indeed. Bit too lucky, maybe.”</p><p><em> Touché</em>.</p><p>She makes a little gasping sound, but he can’t really be sure; he knows her smile is beautiful, though, because he misses it instantly when she turns around to grab her glass. “How about you? Plans?”</p><p>Plans. Right. Plans. Draco knows plans. He has a plan. His whole life, he’s had a plan. He loves plans. He’s the master of plans. He hates surprises because he lives by plans. He knows he has appointments, too, over the next few days, and he knows he can’t miss them and that they’re timed to the second to fit his tight schedule. However, he can’t seem to remember them, now. It’s stupid. It’s exhilarating. It’s the best fucking feeling in the entire world.</p><p>“I…” he begins, but his words anticipate his brain. “That was a beautiful piece.”</p><p>Something flickers in her eyes and it goes right to his gut. “Modesty is not your thing, is it?”</p><p>“You never told me you found the song.”</p><p>“You thought I’d lost it?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“You never mentioned it either. You actually disappeared in such an impressive rush, after leaving it on my bedside table while I was sleeping.” A faded note of hurt echoes through the apparent sarcasm of her voice and his insides twist up in guilt and regret.</p><p>“I didn’t…” She’s still looking at him with her wide, chocolate-brown eyes when she wets her lips. It’s a reflex, more than anything else, and yet it draws out in time for something like a century or two. “Are you mad at me?”</p><p>“I was.” Fair. </p><p>“Are you mad at me now?”</p><p>“Possibly.” Also fair. “I have to think about that, actually,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “After all, I haven’t heard from you in a very long time now.”</p><p>He doesn’t bite his tongue quickly enough. “You haven’t thought of me either?”</p><p>Her cheeks lift up. “Modesty is definitely <em> not </em> your thing.”</p><p>Draco would like to tell her that he, on the other hand, has thought of her <em> constantly</em>, even when he was <em> actively not </em> thinking of her, but Hermione waves a hand around and he holds that thought for a second time.</p><p>Because he <em> is </em> going to get a second chance, let it be the last thing he ever does.</p><p>“You should compose more, by the way,” Hermione goes on. “Sirius couldn’t stop talking about this piece when I first played it for him. I think Hozier, too, would love it,” she adds with a wink.</p><p>Draco feels like laughing hysterically. Or maybe disappearing from the face of the Earth. Or even like spending the rest of his life just looking at her, and carve into his mind the way the sunlight plays with the shades of brown of her eyes. He could stare at her for centuries. He wants to.</p><p>“I <em> have </em> written some more pieces, as a matter of fact,” he manages. Maybe what he really feels like doing is punch himself.</p><p>Hermione laughs, and if it isn’t the sound that puts all music to shame.</p><p>A sudden hand down his back makes him jump, startled.</p><p>“Sorry, sweetheart, we really should get going.” Narcissa stands quietly next to him and rubs his back while he blinks at her. His eyes dart from her to Hermione and back to his mother. “Or, well, if you’re busy you can get a taxi…”</p><p>“No, it’s fine, just give me a minute,” he says before clearing his throat. “Um, mum?” The smile on Narcissa’s face is everything he would have never dreamed of asking for. His hand moves in the space between the two women as his eyes meet the violinist’s ones. “This is Hermione.”</p><p>Ten.</p><p>And the smile Hermione opens up in is everything his own dreams are made of.</p><p>She shakes Narcissa’s stretched hand.</p><p>“What an incredible performance, my dear. You really are impossibly talented.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you, you’re too kind.” There’s a light blush on her cheeks. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Malfoy.”</p><p>Draco is going to burst.</p><p>The older woman turns back to him. “I’ll head downstairs, then. But…”</p><p>“I’ll be there,” he assures her. “I have to come back to Marlborough anyway; my, uh…” It’s incredible, really, the way his brain can focus solely on Hermione’s figure peeping in the corner of his peripheral vision. “My car is there. So, I really have to.”</p><p>“That’s why I mentioned the taxi, darling.”</p><p>Hermione snorts, making a poor job of covering it up with a delicate cough.</p><p>“Right. Yeah, but– it’s a long road. A pointless expense. Don’t worry, just… I’ll be right behind you.”</p><p>“As you wish,” Narcissa says, resigned. Then, “It was a pleasure, Hermione.”</p><p>“Likewise, Mrs Malfoy.”</p><p>She is just effortlessly gracious. The same girl who shoves a maritozzo con panna down her throat every morning and dirts her lips with whipped cream as though she was still five years old.</p><p>Narcissa leaves and Draco follows her with his gaze, terrified to death to turn back and face Hermione. He has no idea how to wrap this up, to do what he wants to do and to say what he wants to say.</p><p>She calls him back to reality. “You know, I had a dream, once,” she grins when she hears the crack of his neck as he snaps his head around. “That you called me Hermione when you said goodbye in Rome.”</p><p>Draco smiles, “That’s impossible.”</p><p>“Why?” she pouts.</p><p>It’s unfair.</p><p>“I never call you ‘Hermione’.” Oh. “Hermione.” <em> Oh? </em></p><p>Her face is lit up by the prettiest smile. “I guess you have to go.”</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>He stays put.</p><p>“I’ll see you around, then.”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>“Meet me tomorrow for breakfast.” He doesn’t even know where but he doesn’t care. He just wants to see her and keep seeing her for as long as he can.</p><p>Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Aren’t you supposed to go back to… Marlborough, was it? I thought you were a city-person, by the way.”</p><p>“I am. My parents like to stay in the countryside for the summer, and I went there for my birthday.” Great, he lost the brain-mouth filter, too.</p><p>“I didn’t know it was your birthday!” she exclaims, surprised. “When?”</p><p>“Oh, just a couple of days ago,” he runs a hand to the back of his head, feeling bashful.</p><p>“Well, then, happy belated birthday!” Her hand twitches, almost running to his arm, but Draco doesn’t notice, too focused on her joyful eyes. If he could find the way to curl up in her smile, sink into the warmth that she spreads around with that simple action, he would crack the riddle to live a full and peaceful life.</p><p>“Thank you.” If this isn’t the best fucking present of his entire existence.</p><p>They stay silent for a moment, voices of the guests around them being just background noise.</p><p>“Anyway, I’m coming back tonight. Or tomorrow. I’m coming back.”</p><p>Cheeks lifting up. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>She chuckles. “London, then?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“It’s a pretty big city, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Let his idiocy be the reason why her laugh is so crystalline, this day and every day for the rest of his life.</p><p>“Alright,” she says, patting her pockets and pulling out her mobile, “you can write down the– oh, shit, it’s dead.” She suggests he text her, but Draco has already grabbed a pen from one of the waiters’ jacket, raised her left arm and gently pulled up the sleeve.</p><p>Hermione blinks at him for a moment before snorting and biting her lip while he scribbles an address on her forearm, just like she did to him many months before, in a sun-drenched afternoon in the middle of a timeless Italian city. She doesn’t know it yet, but it’s not a café– it’s the address of his place.</p><p>They both look at it quietly for a few seconds, his hand still around her arm. Then, Draco leans in. “Don’t bring a friend.”</p><p>She giggles and he smiles and lets her go. Every inch of his skin is burning up, every part of his body suddenly feels boneless. His fingertips are already screaming to get back in contact with her.</p><p>“Eight o’ clock, then,” she says, nodding resolutely. “Apologies sound better in the morning.”</p><p>Right, apologies. He should apologise. He has to. She, too, should– <em> no</em>, not really. He is the one who messed up. Twice. “Whenever you want,” he agrees. Apparently, his answer surprises her.</p><p>“You won’t be sleeping?”</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>She peers down at the address, tracing it with her violin string scarred fingers for a few seconds, before rolling her sleeve down.</p><p>“Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”</p><p>He nods. Watches her giving him a soft smile, then nods again. After that, Draco shifts on his heels and turns around.</p><p>He takes a step.</p><p>
  <em> I hope you’ll get the right message out of it. </em>
</p><p>Then he takes another step.</p><p>
  <em> I guess it tells us how minor details can have the most unexpected of outcomes. </em>
</p><p>Hermione looks at his retreating back for a moment, and it seems like she’s about to move– but she doesn’t. She puts down the plate, then the wine glass, the ceramic and the glass clicking together and against the table.</p><p>As he reaches the exit on the staircase, Draco looks up from the tip of his oxfords to see plenty of people around him chatting easily. It’s madness, he thinks, how calm and relaxed they are; if this was a Romantic painting, they would all be reflecting his inner havoc and laying on the ground gripping on their hair and beating their chests.</p><p>He descends the stairs slowly, lost and shaken up, unable to fix his mind on one single thought, his whole body thrumming with pent-up energy. He’s been waiting for the moment he’d finally see her again for so long that their encounter feels completely unreal now. Maybe it didn’t even happen– he didn’t pinch himself, after all. Maybe it was just another dream; God only knows how many times he’s dreamt of her. It’s too many coincidences at once to possibly be true.</p><p>Or maybe Hermione is going to text him tomorrow at 7.58 AM to tell him she’s at his front door. Maybe she’s going to have breakfast with him and complain that it’s not a maritozzo and make him fall in love with her all over again. </p><p>But he doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He wants her here and now, on this terrace just like he wanted her on that other terrace, in this city just like he wanted her in that other city.</p><p>
  <em> Then, if I still have some time, there’s meeting a man I haven’t seen in ten months to tell him I love him. </em>
</p><p>He stops, one foot dangling over the lower step.</p><p>He should turn around.</p><p>He didn’t do it the first time and she told him she was mad for it. Did she hate him, too? Did she forgive him? Does she know why he didn’t? Does <em> he </em> know why he didn’t?</p><p>Kind of. Maybe. Because he wasn’t strong enough to admit that he was in love with her and that he would have given up everything else to stay with her. He wasn’t strong enough to make it real. And turning around would have made it real.</p><p>But now he has a second chance, and he should… he <em> has </em> to turn around.</p><p>Someone snaps their fingers in front of him and Draco startles. He needs to blink a few times before recognising Sirius.</p><p>“Everything all right?”</p><p>It’s not a dream, then, he realises looking at the first piece of domino that created the series of events that brought him here. And Hermione said that Sirius <em> knows</em>.</p><p>Falling back on his feet, Draco grabs the other man by his shoulders. “Can you give me a lift to Marlborough tonight?”</p><p>He gives him a funny look. “Sure, we can manage something.”</p><p>“Beautiful. Can you tell my mother downstairs I have something to do here?”</p><p>Sirius laughs, and there’s something like pride in his eyes as he takes his hands off of his shoulders. “Just go.”</p><p>Draco spins on his heels and runs back upstairs.</p><p>He emerges in the crowd that now looks like it has triplicated. He elbows his way through it, looking everywhere for Hermione, who seems nowhere to be found. He apologises countless times to a ridiculous number of people, he scans the groups of musicians in black suits, too, but she’s not there either; he runs to the stage where Harry, Ron and Neville are getting ready to play to ask if they’ve seen her, but they all shake their heads. The redhead makes a stpid joke, but Draco can’t really be bothered.</p><p>He dives back into the wave of guests looking for her, and it’s back to avoiding long dresses and balancing small plates, a frantic string of “pardon” and “excuse me” to make his way through it, but Hermione seems to have disappeared into the void. Maybe, then, it was just a very vivid hallucination.</p><p>When his eyes catch the umpteenth black suit of the day, he is ready to face the fact that he’s just delusional enough to have made the whole thing up, and he’s probably going to wake up soon, but then...</p><p>Hermione emerges, frowning, from the staircase.</p><p>Draco immediately pinches himself– and it <em> bloody hurts</em>.</p><p>He quickly covers the distance between them, almost shouting in his distress and relief of finally having found her. “Where did you go?”</p><p>She startles at his loud voice. “Where did <em> you </em> go?”</p><p>“I was looking for you!”</p><p>“Well, <em> I </em> was looking for <em> you</em>!”</p><p>He stares at her. He stares, and stares, and stares, and she’s the most beautiful piece of art that was ever created. He can see himself reflected in her wide eyes; he can see his <em> true </em> self in them, because she knows him, she got to know him deeply in such a short amount of time and he wants her to know him completely for the rest of her days.</p><p>She cocks an eyebrow when he keeps blinking. “So?”</p><p>He feels his mouth stretch in a smile too big for his face, his cheeks almost aching. “You were looking for me, Granger?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes, a smirk draping across her face. “You’re making this harder than it should be.” </p><p>“That’s one elegant double entendre.”</p><p>“I didn’t recall you being such a teenager, Malfoy.” </p><p>He chuckles, shaking his head softly. </p><p>Then, slowly, timidly, he brings his hand up to her face, tucking an insubordinate curl behind her ear. Hermione’s eyes flicker shut at the contact, sighing as though she’s been waiting for his touch.</p><p>He draws her closer by her hand, circling her waist with the other as she falls immediately into his arms.</p><p>Her lips meet his halfway through their descent and the whole world finds its colours and its meaning again.</p><p>When her arms lock behind his neck, he secures his grip around her waist and lifts her up, twirling her around, spinning on himself one, two, three times. The surprised laughter she gives him is enough to make up for all his mistakes, all his regrets, all the months of missing her. </p><p>Gently putting her down, the weight of her body pressing against him after so long, Draco takes her in – all of her – and he feels a wave of happiness, of just stupid, dumb, unthinkable and impossible happiness crash into him. The taste of her lips is better than he’d anticipated, it’s better than he remembered, and the way she smiles into his mouth is the only thing that will ever keep him sane. </p><p>Tamed for far too long, the fire finally blazes up inside his chest and he knows she can feel it, too; he knows it from the way she squeezes herself against him and from her fingers tangling in his hair and from the blinding light in her eyes. It’s the same spark that brought the universe to life.</p><p>His hand cups the nape of her neck, tenderly, thumb brushing her jaw, and she whines when he breaks the contact between their lips. Foreheads pressed together, Draco smiles at her small pout.</p><p>“I have plans, too,” he says, a whisper that feels like the spring breeze on her nose.</p><p>“Do you, now?”</p><p>He hums. “But I had to change them. There was an unforeseen turn of events.”</p><p>“Oh no. Can you fix it?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s easy enough,” he says, catching the tip of her nose between his lips. “Maybe you can help me out. There’s this violinist I need to talk to; short, curly brown hair, plays like a Muse. Have you seen her?”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound familiar. But maybe I’ll bump into her and can pass a message?”</p><p>“Sounds good. If you do, tell her I said that I missed her and I love her. This day and every other day forward. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>Hermione beams, and the sun is crying somewhere in the sky, for a human stole its role. “Miss and love. Sure. Noted.” Her words are a bit wobbled, a sniffle sounds between them.</p><p>“Good.” Draco has to force back the sting at the corner of his eyes. “Thank you, Granger. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”</p><p>“I know,” she says before capturing his mouth again. This kiss is soft, passionate, and full of promises for the future. Their future.</p><p>She pulls back and takes his face in her hands, eyes boring into his, thumbs resting delicately on his cheekbones; her callous pads stroke his skin as though she’s caressing blown glass. “I love you, Draco.”</p><p>Such simple words. Even kids use and abuse them. But it doesn’t matter, not when they come from Hermione. Not when they are directed at him and him only, not when they are meant for this moment and every other moment when she almost said it and then didn’t. Not when they are meant for every moment when <em> he </em> almost said it and then didn’t; not when they sound like the immediate forgiveness Eurydice gave Orpheus when he lost her forever.</p><p>Except that Draco isn’t losing Hermione. Not now, and if he can help it, not ever. </p><p>Because he is in love with her and she is in love with him.</p><p>A kind of love that is not original nor a once-in-history affair, but that is ardent, and fierce, and strong nonetheless. A leap of faith that <em> doesn’t have </em> to be original, that doesn’t have to be one for the history books, but that still drives the two lovers insane with pure happiness, with uncontrollable joy, and that makes their hearts pound double-time in their chests.</p><p>A love that soothes the gnawing sensation in the stomach Draco had become used to living with, that makes him feel light and plan-less and <em> free </em> for the first time in his life.</p><p><em> Because, sometimes, love isn’t enough</em>, he’d told Pansy and, fuck, was he wrong. Well, not wrong– delusional. There is literally nothing that matters more, nothing that could have more value: who cares about the rest of the world, when he gets to be loved by Hermione Granger. Let it perish, let it flourish, let it disappear. He couldn’t bring himself to care.</p><p>Her smile is ecstatic, audacious and life-altering, it’s a laugh and it’s a yell, it’s the first rays of the morning sun and it’s a baby touching the sea for the first time, it’s the constellations taking shapes and names in the night sky and it’s pages and pages of words of poetry. It’s the finish line of a race and it’s the climbing of the highest mountain, it’s the fresh music of a river in the forest. It’s the happily ever after and it’s the whole road that took to it, it’s anarchy and chaos, it’s the plan for the rest of his life and it’s no plan at all, it’s the highs and it’s the lows, it’s music– it’s all the music in the world.</p><p>It’s noise, it’s dissonance, it’s melody, it’s harmony, it’s scales and notes, it’s a song and it’s silence, it’s a beat and it’s pauses, it’s a thousand different instruments, it’s orchestras and it’s solo acts, it’s a whole pianoforte keyboard but flipped around, because it’s 88 keys and if you flip two eight you get to infinites and that’s all Hermione holds inside of her and in her smile, infinites and so much more.</p><p>And it’s full of hope.</p><p>“I’m in love with you, Hermione Granger.”</p><p>Love. That intense, utterly terrifying and yet inexplicably comforting connection with someone who can take out the unabashed and daring hopefulness that lies within your soul and make it theirs. The reason why we could walk straight to the Underworld or touch Heaven with a finger– all because we know there is someone who can quiet our fears and anguish, making us happy to wake up every morning.</p><p>After all, that’s what it is all about. Isn’t it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few things before saying goodbye<br/>
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[drumroll]<br/>
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</p><p><br/>
YOU GUESSED IT!!! We had to put Sirius Black in this fic somehow, we couldn’t have lived with ourselves if he hadn’t made an appearance! One of you wondered whether it could be Tom Riddle, which would have been a WILD plot twist, but we’re more the sentimental types.<br/>
Speaking of Sirius, the mention of Claremont Square is there because the externals of Grimmauld Place in the movies are shot there and we wanted to reference it. And the second reference to a canon location is the Malfoy’s family home in the countryside. This is a funny story: originally, we gave them a house in Cotswold (an über-rich-people town) but then we found out that in <i>Order of the Phoenix</i> it’s clearly stated that they have a house in Wiltshire (while Cotswold is in Gloucestershire), so we researched a different place and landed on Marlborough, which is said to be the place where Merlin’s bones are buried. Makes sense that Lucius Malfoy would buy his country home there, doesn’t it?</p><p>-</p><p>“Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here!”<br/>
(<i>Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone</i>)</p><p>This fic started out almost as a joke. The first draft was born on the 4th of January and we officially closed it on the 5th of April: these three months have been everything to us. It’s no secret that these times aren’t easy, and <i>Hermione’s pianist</i> has become our gateway to a world of our own, in our favourite city, during the summer, a love letter to love itself.<br/>
<br/>
We have been overjoyed to read your response to it: watching you guys making this story your own and following it throughout these 10 incredible weeks has been the most wonderful thing ever. It gave us the energy to go on and strive for the best story we could give you. We hope it brought you as much happiness reading it as it brought us writing it.<br/>
<br/>
And finally, a couple of thanks:<br/>
To everyone who decided to spend some of their time reading our story: thank you! Putting words out in the world is always terrifying and knowing that there’s someone out there who will click on your link and give you a chance is the best feeling ever.<br/>
To everyone who was loud about it: THANK YOU! Your constant support has been the absolute best thing. Whether it was just dropping the link on social media, leaving comments when we hurt you the most (we got so many comments on chapter 9 lmao), or letting us know you were tweeting about it—every little thing was more than what we expected so thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.<br/>
<br/>
We genuinely hope you all loved reading our story as much as we loved writing it. And we hope that everyone who will arrive later will love it just the same.<br/>
<br/>
And now we got to the end. This was a wild ride.<br/>
We hope to see you again soon and we thank you for staying with us all this time. It really means the world &lt;3<br/>
<br/>
Sara &amp; Valentina</p>
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